


never bleed, never grow

by sketchedsmiles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bodyswap, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, in which fukurodani and seijoh switch setters for a week, the body swap au no one asked for but everyone needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchedsmiles/pseuds/sketchedsmiles
Summary: There's something incredible about the relationship between a setter and their ace. But when the setter falters, it's the ace's job to help them find their way again.(iwaoi & bokuaka body swap au)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Iwaizumi Hajime, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 325
Kudos: 575
Collections: iwaoi





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello & welcome to the iwaoi/bokuaka body swap au that no one asked for but everyone needed. enjoy your stay.

Tokyo is a city of adventure.

At least, considering he’s hardly ever left Miyagi in all his years, Oikawa certainly thinks so. To him, Tokyo has always been a fantasy, a far-off dream that you whisper to yourself in your darkest moments if only to remind yourself that there is a finish line. His finish line rests on Tokyo’s center court.

The qualifiers for Nationals are now a heavy breath against the back of his neck, and if he ever wants to return to Tokyo, he and his team must cross that hurdle first. But today, he can savor this. A practice match against Fukurodani Academy. One of the shoe-ins for the competition this spring. With a superstar ace and a well-practiced team, they are more than worthy opponents to practice against.

It’s not easy to schedule a match with them. Actually, it’s pretty damn difficult, and the numerous phone calls and emails back and forth between their two coaches almost made him lose hope. They’re as hard to get ahold of as Shiratorizawa— _not_ that he ever wants to think about them other than their potential looks when Aoba Johsai finally comes out on top. It’s not that Fukurodani only favors practicing with university teams; rather, they have an exclusive group of teams that they schedule training camps with for weeks on end, and they rarely venture outside that tight-knit circle of connections.

But now that he’s standing inside the Fukurodani Academy gymnasium, Oikawa lets himself breathe a sigh of relief. They’re here. They’ve made it this far, and they’ll get valuable practice.

The Fukurodani team are already in the middle of practice drills, and even though the players are mere black and white blurs hurrying across the court, there are a few that stick out to him. Komi—a talented and reliable libero; Konoha—a jack-of-all-trades type; and of course, Bokuto Koutarou, having just missed the top three aces in all of Japan on a high school level. The sound of their entrance causes the team to pause, and the entirety of Aoba Johsai takes the opportunity to bow and thank them for the game.

“So this is Fukurodani,” Hanamaki says, coming up beside him as Oikawa straightens. “You know, after all the hassle it took for us to schedule a time with them, I never actually thought they’d pull through.”

“Of course,” Oikawa says. “Take it all in, boys. This is what it means to go to Nationals every year. We have a chance to play with the very best.” He twists towards the rest of his team. “Don’t let this go to waste, okay?”

There are murmurs of assent, and the team shuffles off to put their duffle bags away and start warming up. Oikawa moves to follow them, but his attention veers to the side.

He’s never had the chance to watch Fukurodani’s setter from up close before. All of the footage he’s managed to get his hands on tends to focus on Bokuto as he’s slamming the spike down, and it completely misses the build up beforehand. Now, he gets to see Akaashi Keiji in the flesh. He doesn’t set himself apart as one of the more outstanding setters—not like Tobio-chain—and he doesn’t aim for the offensive side of the sport. He seems like a setter who steps on the court and merely gets the job done. Oikawa wonders how textbook his plays are—or if the reason Fukurodani is at the level they are because of the power of their setter.

“Hey.” A brusque voice cuts into his thoughts. “Are you coming or what?”

Oikawa whips his head around, all thoughts of his opposing setter gone for the time being. “Of course, Iwa-chan. But you didn’t have to wait behind for me.”

* * *

Fukurodani Academy takes the first set.

Suddenly, all of the pent-up excitement washes away, peeling back his skin until he feels like he’s been rubbed raw. This feeling is almost forgotten, but it’s still so familiar: that tall wall that stands in front of you when all you can do is stare upwards.

Coach Irihata is speaking to them, but all Oikawa can hear is white noise. It’s been so long since he hasn’t taken charge during a time out. It’s been so long since he’s felt this helpless. Is this how it will always be? Every time he crosses one mountain, there’s another that is larger than life.

And Fukurodani’s team is certainly larger than life.

How are they meant to compete at Nationals if they falter here?

Bokuto Koutarou is every bit the star everyone’s promised he is. It’s terrifying to watch one of his spikes land on their side of the court and hear the reminder that this player missed out on the top three as the whistle blows. And it isn’t just him either. Every player on Fukurodani is there because they deserve to be. They’re adaptable and quick and they take initiative. Aoba Johsai can dig the ball up and get the one-touches in, but Fukurodani endures easily. Oikawa wonders what kind of teams they practice against if they’re well-versed in endurance.

And their setter— He was right in thinking that Akaashi flies under the radar. But if anything, that puts Oikawa on edge more. Every glance he sends Akaashi’s way, he gets the feeling that Akaashi is analyzing the match ten steps ahead of everyone else. It’s unnerving how his faith never wavers—not in himself nor his team.

That’s what it means to be a setter at Nationals. Not whatever he’s doing.

“ _Oikawa_ ,” Coach Irihata says, and Oikawa lifts his head. If his expression is any indication, his coach has been trying to get his attention for a while now. “You need to get out of your head. You’re all doing fine. Just be more aggressive with your serves, and get your receives up higher.”

There is a chorus of “yes, sir” before they shuffle back onto the court. While no one looks pleased about the current situation, none of them have his look of misery.

“Oi, moron,” Iwaizumi says, poking a finger into his ribs. “Did you listen to Coach? Get out of your head _now._ We’re playing a great team, and your mind is back in Miyagi.” He knocks a fist against Oikawa’s head. “This isn’t Shiratorizawa we’re facing off against. This is a practice match. Stop acting like the world is ending.”

Oikawa pouts and presses a hand to his head. “Ouch! That hurt.”

“Stop moping then. Your last set was too low.”

“What?” he demands, aghast.

“You heard me.” Iwaizumi shoves him over to his position. “They’re about to serve. You think you can manage that?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for a response before heading over to his spot on the court, and Oikawa doesn’t grace him with one either. He huffs out a breath. Iwaizumi’s right. He’s too stuck in his head about this. He’s wasting one of their best learning opportunities because he’s looking behind him.

He has fallen back into that miserable habit—looking over his shoulder to see who’s catching up. He can’t afford to dig himself into that hole. Especially not since he’s officially decided to go to Argentina.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. He doesn’t want to look at Iwaizumi and debate whether it’s the right moment to tell him that he’s planning on moving across the freaking _world._ He’s not ready to hear Iwaizumi’s response—whatever it will be. He knows that whatever Iwaizumi says will feel like being cracked open. If Iwaizumi doubts him, Oikawa doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to come back from that.

Still, with each day that he doesn’t tell him, Oikawa feels the fissures forming. He has to tell him. Soon.

But right now, he has a set to take back.

When he faces the net once more, the whistle becomes soothing. The referee waves Fukurodani’s first server on, and then the ball is in play.

“Got it!” Watari shouts before sending it in Oikawa’s direction.

As the ball soars towards him, he has a split second to make his decision. Normally, he’d rely on Iwaizumi, but—they’ll be expecting a ball for the ace, and Fukurodani is talented at blocking. They don’t hold a candle to Date Tech, but he’d rather not put Iwaizumi in a tough position. That’s why—

He sets it towards Matsukawa. “Mattsun!”

It’s a glorious spike, charged with power and intensity, but even then, Komi retrieves it. Oikawa is pleased to see that it isn’t a clean return, and Akaashi tears up the court to get into position to set it. There is no panic in his movements, not a single indication that something has gone awry, and Oikawa envies him for it.

“Bokuto-san!” is all Akaashi says before setting it towards the ace.

Oikawa sees the excited gleam that crosses Bokuto’s face as he leaps to spike, but he’s ready for it. Matsukawa and Oikawa jump at the same time to block, and Matsukawa gets a hand on it.

“Mine!” Watari calls out. His receive is as clinical as always, and Oikawa considers his options.

Now would be a good time to call on Iwaizumi. After all, Akaashi just relied on his ace. But all eyes are on Iwaizumi, which is why Oikawa hesitates for a moment.

When he leaps up to meet the ball, his hands aren’t positioned for the set. For a short while, all is quiet, and it’s like a quick intake of breath. Oikawa’s gaze flickers to the other side of the court for a second. That is how he sees the exact moment his spike slams into Akaashi Keiji’s face.

* * *

When Akaashi returns after getting his nose checked out, a wrapped ice pack held tightly against his face, the second set is nearing its end. Anahori appears to have done a fine job filling in as the setter as Fukurodani is leading by three points. They only need two more to snatch the victory.

If he’s being honest, Seijoh are a solid team. He expected them to be after the whispers of rumors he heard about them during training camp from Karasuno. That’s partly the reason he’s been looking forward to this match. But he also wanted to get a closer look at the setter Kageyama-kun seems to admire so much.

Oikawa Tooru is a sight to behold. He gives the setter position a new meaning, even if Akaashi gets the sense that he’s holding himself back today. There is unearthed potential lying in front of him, and it is clear to anyone watching that he orchestrates the entire team to their highest abilities.

Akaashi has never been that kind of setter. He’s never been that kind of _person._ The kind of person that can connect with others so deeply that everyone becomes the best version of themselves. The closest he’s ever gotten to that is his relationship with Bokuto, and well—somedays all he can do is try his best.

He almost envies Oikawa in a way. Oikawa may doubt whether he can overcome a strong opponent, but he shouldn’t ever doubt whether he’s important to his team. Akaashi wishes he could relate. Had the situations been reversed, Seijoh likely would’ve struggled to maintain their momentum. It’s nothing against the rest of the team. It’s just that Oikawa is _that good._

Akaashi has been gone for twenty minutes, and it’s like his absence isn’t felt.

They’re still winning. He should be glad for that, and he is. But there is an unwanted feeling slipping around his edges.

Coach Yamiji waves him over, and Akaashi complies, keeping the pressure on his nose as he does so. “How is it?” he asks.

“Fine,” Akaashi replies. “The bleeding has stopped.”

“Good to hear.” He nods. “I would put you in, but we’re only—”

The sound of the ball slamming against the court interrupts his sentence, and the scoreboard is corrected, another point added to Fukurodani’s tally. A brief chorus of cheers follows, and the team crowds around Bokuto to give him high-fives. Akaashi has to press his feet firmly against the floor to resist the urge to join them.

Coach Yamiji has a fond smile on his face. “We’re only one point away from winning. You did good today though.”

“Thank you, Yamiji-sensei,” Akaashi says.

He tightens his grip on the ice pack. Technically, there was nothing out of the ordinary for his performance today. There were no obvious mistakes. Yet as he watches Oikawa, he can’t help but feel lackluster in comparison.

Akaashi resists the urge to sigh. He’s never felt like this before. Even when they went to Nationals last year, they encountered many brilliant setters that far exceeded his abilities. Maybe it’s because it’s the third-years’ final tournament, and the pressure is building, but he wishes the storm in his head would calm if only for a second.

The whistle tears him out of his head, and he jumps off the bench to see the entire Fukurodani team huddled together in celebration.

“Easy, Akaashi,” Suzumeda urges. “Or all that blood will rush to your head and drip out of your nose again.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Coach Yamiji pats his back. “Let’s line up.”

After both teams have lined up and thanked each other for the game, Akaashi straightens to find himself meeting Bokuto’s curious gaze.

“How’s your nose?” Bokuto asks, his hand half-outstretched like he wants to pull the ice pack away to assess the damage himself.

“It’ll be fine, Bokuto-san,” he says. “No lasting damage anyway.”

Bokuto perks up. “That’s great! I was worried.”

His last statement touches Akaashi’s heart. “Thank you.”

“No worries!”

Akaashi lets Bokuto lead the way after the rest of the team as they trail into the changing rooms. They follow at a slower pace, Bokuto hanging back to stick by Akaashi’s side, and Akaashi takes the chance to get a closer look at Seijoh’s team.

For the most part, the team doesn’t look devastated. It is only a practice match after all. There’s plenty of time to improve between now and qualifiers. And Aoba Johsai is a team with a lot of potential. He understands now why Karasuno feels so determined to best them.

“They were really good, weren’t they?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

“But we expected them to be, you know! Kuroo told me that they beat Karasuno in the Interhigh Qualifiers, and I can see why—they’re really great, but nothing we can’t handle!”

Akaashi hums his agreement.

Aoba Johsai begins to take their leave, the team lugging their duffle bags over their shoulders as they hurry off to catch the train back to Miyagi. Akaashi gets so lost in watching them that the two pairs of footsteps thundering toward him make him jump in place.

“Akaashi-kun!” Oikawa Tooru says cheerfully, his hands outstretched. “I’m glad I caught you.”

Akaashi stops and spins around to face Oikawa properly. “Oh, hi, Oikawa-san.”

Iwaizumi Hajime—Seijoh’s ace—hangs around behind Oikawa. He appears to be nudging Oikawa in his back, ignoring the irritated looks the setter sends him in return. He’s a few inches shorter than Oikawa. Hm. Akaashi’s never noticed.

Akaashi doesn’t realize Bokuto has stayed behind with him until he feels his arm brush against him. “You guys played a great game!” Bokuto says. “You’re a really strong team.”

Oikawa appears mollified at the compliment. “Thank you,” he says, nearly preening. Akaashi doesn’t miss Iwaizumi’s eye roll behind him. “Of course, it would be unnecessary for me to tell you the same, but the sentiment stands.” That sharp grin falters ever so slightly. “It’s clear why you make it to Nationals every year.”

“Not every year,” Akaashi corrects.

Oikawa waves him off. “ _Anyway_ —that’s not why we came over.” He directs his attention to Akaashi who has to resist the urge to look away. “I wanted to apologize. The spike into the face”—he waves a hand at Akaashi’s nose, as if Akaashi could’ve forgotten what had happened only a half hour ago—“was not meant to happen. Sorry about that, Akaashi-kun.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He’s not upset with Oikawa. He’d anticipated the dump and hadn’t brought up a hand quick enough to defend himself. “Accidents happen.”

“You’re too forgiving! You can hold a bit of a grudge.”

Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa in the back again. “We have to get going.”

“ _Iwa-chan_ , be nice,” Oikawa protests.

“I am nice,” Iwaizumi says with a huff. He meets both of their gazes. “Like we said before, it was great practice for us. Thank you for having us.”

“Of course!” Bokuto nods eagerly, pumping his fists by his side. “It was great practice for us too. Good luck in the qualifiers! We’ll be cheering for Karasuno, but we wish you the best—”

“You’re cheering for _Karasuno?_ ” Oikawa cries out in indignation before Iwaizumi clamps a hand over his mouth.

Iwaizumi gives them both a final nod before shoving Oikawa toward the exit, muttering all the while, “Don’t lick my hand, Crappykawa, that’s gross—”

“Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.” Bokuto scratches the side of his head. “But I want the chance to take that quick attack on in a real game! I shouldn’t have said that though. I think I upset Oikawa.”

“It’s alright, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs. He hadn’t expected any sort of apology, though it is much appreciated. “We should go get changed.”

“You’re right,” Bokuto says. “Can we race? I’ll race you there?”

“Bokuto-san, I can’t really breathe through my nose…”

“Right, right. We can walk then. I’ll wait for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy enjoy enjoy

When his alarm blares the next morning, it’s instinct to ignore it. After spending nearly two hours commuting back to Miyagi from Tokyo in the wake of their loss, the last thing Oikawa wants to do is get up and face his teammates. He doesn’t want to have to look at their expectant faces and fake an optimistic speech about how yesterday was a vital learning experience when all he wants to do is curl deeper into the covers.

He doesn’t have to get up right away. If he lies in bed a while longer, Iwaizumi will come to collect him anyway. He’ll knock on the door several times before his mother takes pity on him and lets him inside, then he’ll storm up to Oikawa’s bedroom, enter without knocking this time, and drag him out by his ankles. It’ll be like clockwork as usual.

Oikawa sighs and buries his face deeper into his pillow, and the eerie silence downstairs becomes less unbearable.

Oikawa stiffens. His house is never completely silent.

He sits up in bed, rubbing at his eyes to ward the last waves of drowsiness away, and he reaches for his phone. It isn’t until the phone flashes on that he feels a stab in his heart.

The lock screen is of the entire Fukurodani Academy team, clearly taken during one of their training camps. Everyone is dressed in casual athletic clothing, but their faces are no less recognizable. His attention shifts to Bokuto and Akaashi near the front. Bokuto has his arm around Akaashi’s neck, pulling him into his side, and while Akaashi wears a pained expression, he looks more flushed than the rest of his teammates.

For a second, he considers that Iwaizumi is playing a practical joke on him. The second passes, and he recognizes that there’s no way that Iwaizumi could’ve gotten ahold of this intimate photograph. Besides, this requires effort. If Iwaizumi wants to get under Oikawa’s skin, he manages to do that just fine with physical jabs.

But then—

The phone is completely locked. “Damn it,” he huffs before setting it aside.

That stab in the heart returns as he surveys the room. This isn’t his bedroom. His walls aren’t painted a deep black; he doesn’t have a bookshelf filled to the brim with paperbacks and manga issues; he’s never laid his uniform out for school the night before. Whoever lives here must be incredibly intelligent—even if his desk gives the impression of controlled chaos.

But none of this explains how he’s winded up in this room. He remembers falling asleep. He remembers receiving a text from Iwaizumi before he left him on read. There is no reason for him to be _here._

Oikawa grabs the phone again—and nearly drops it.

Without the brightness of the screen, he can see his reflection in the glass. Well, not his reflection exactly.

“Oh no,” Oikawa whispers, and he jolts as the voice that comes out of his mouth does not belong to him. “Oh no, oh no. This is not happening.” He uses his thumb to pull up the phone’s camera, flipping it towards him. Even as his hands come up to touch his face, mirroring each of his exact moments, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s wearing Akaashi Keiji’s face.

“No, no, no,” he continues.

Oikawa drops the phone on the bed and hurries out into the hall. In hindsight, he should’ve expected this to make him more overwhelmed because he still has no idea where he is—although his mind is churning up a few outrageous theories. He’s grateful no one peeks out of any of the other rooms as he starts opening doors. There has to be a bathroom somewhere.

Thankfully, he finds it on the third try. Both of his palms reach up to pat his face. Or—Akaashi’s face.

Akaashi is handsome. There’s no doubt about that. He has perfectly symmetrical features as though he’s been sketched and crafted with care, and even though he’ll probably have frown lines before he’s thirty, there’s a softness to his expression. Akaashi has the look of someone who always gives honest and good advice with none of Oikawa’s own mischief. It’s disconcerting to say the least. His nose is still slightly swollen though.

But even if he can compliment the guy on his looks—and _fine_ , on his talent as a setter too—he never actually wanted to trade places with him. How is he meant to explain any of this to anyone?

His stomach turns. How is he meant to play for Aoba Johsai in Akaashi’s body? Qualifiers are coming up. Maybe he should call Iwaizumi. He’ll—

Oikawa scowls at his reflection. Iwaizumi likely won’t believe him. And Oikawa isn’t sure he’s willing to hear the doubt in his voice. Right now, the last thing he needs is for someone to mock him. He wants advice; he wants answers.

Oikawa tilts his head. He’s just thought about the fact that Akaashi looks like the kind of person who gives earnest advice. If there’s anyone worth talking to, it would be Akaashi. That is… if Akaashi is actually stuck in Oikawa’s body in turn.

Panic floods his senses in a whole new regard. He hasn’t considered what it would be like for someone else to have temporary control of his body. His brain hasn’t gotten past the _what the fuck is going on_ stage.

Does this mean Akaashi is in Miyagi? Wearing Oikawa’s face? Or has he killed Akaashi by living in his body?

A million theories run through his mind at once, and he strides back into Akaashi’s bedroom to find his phone. Akaashi’s phone. Damn it.

If this switch isn’t a one-way street, that complicates things a bit more. Not only would neither of them know how to switch _back_ , but both of them have commitments that are impossible to get out of. Oikawa won’t turn his back on Seijoh, and Akaashi won’t turn his back on Fukurodani. Until this is resolved, they’ll have to play at being each other. And if they don’t switch back before qualifiers—

Oikawa banishes that thought from his mind as he punches in his cell phone number. He can’t afford to think like that. There are weeks between now and qualifiers. They have to switch back before then. He can’t consider the possibility of this being permanent.

He clicks to start the call and raises the phone to his ear, tapping his foot as it rings.

The logistics of it being permanent don’t work. They refuse to set in. Actually, even being able to pretend to be Akaashi for a day is sounding more and more impossible the longer he thinks about it. He doesn’t know the first thing about Fukurodani behind the scenes. He doesn’t know how Akaashi interacts with his family. Hell, he’s not even sure how he’ll get to the school to begin with. And when he arrives there, he has the feeling they’ll recognize him as an outsider right away. Just yesterday, he mulled over the very reasons Akaashi Keiji makes it to Nationals every year, and he… does not.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. At least Akaashi left his uniform out. He’s never done that a day in his life. “Answer, _please._ ”

But the ringing has gone on for too long, and sure enough, he hears his voicemail message start. Oikawa hangs up before the beep, and he plops himself down on the edge of Akaashi’s bed.

* * *

Akaashi braces himself on the porcelain counter in the bathroom. He vaguely registers someone’s phone ringing in the background, but he can’t bring himself to find it and answer. His heart is pounding in his chest too much for him to be able to hold a normal conversation at the moment.

He knew the second he woke that something was wrong. The poster for an old sci-fi film peeling from the wall gave him the fright of his life, and as he’d gotten out of bed, things had only gotten weirder.

He’s taller now. It’s weird that that’s what he chooses to focus on rather than the fact that Oikawa Tooru’s face stares back at him in the mirror. Thankfully, Oikawa has a bathroom attached to his bedroom so he hasn’t had to face anything outside this room yet. Still, his heartbeat hasn’t slowed since his eyes opened.

Akaashi runs his hands through the head of hair that doesn’t belong to him. He knows what Oikawa’s hair is meant to look like. He’s seen it in numerous Volleyball Monthly magazines, excluding yesterday, and he gets the sense that Oikawa is someone who cares very much about his appearance. All he can do is sweep his locks to the side in the hope that no one notices it hasn’t been styled with its usual care.

“Relax, Akaashi,” he whispers to himself, knowing this may be the last time he’s alone today. If he were to say this in front of Oikawa’s family, there’s no telling how that would go down. “You’re going to wake up, and this is going to be a dream.”

That would be ideal, of course. But Akaashi has pinched himself multiple times already, and he’s not waking anytime soon.

Okay. He should think through this logically.

Logically, _there is no way this should be happening._

He should be in his bedroom in Tokyo, putting on his uniform and catching the bus to Fukurodani. He should get to his class and attend school like normal. He shouldn’t be stuck _two hours_ away.

There’s no way of knowing how long this will last. He has to hope that it isn’t a permanent change. This kind of stuff only happens in movies that he never finishes; this kind of stuff doesn’t happen to a nobody setter in real life.

He has to assume that if he’s in Oikawa’s body, Oikawa is in his. That thought… doesn’t comfort him the way he’d hoped it would. His parents will already be at work, so that’s one obstacle Oikawa doesn’t have to face. But there’s—volleyball, and school, and Bokuto.

Bokuto. Akaashi slaps a hand against Oikawa’s forehead. If he falls into one of his moods while he’s in Oikawa’s body…

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself. _He’s survived without you before. The team can last without you. Yesterday was proof of that._

The train of thought doesn’t make the swell of self-doubt vanish, but it does ease his nerves a bit. If Oikawa is in his body, he needs to confirm the theory right away. The two of them need to decide their plan of action. Should they go on with life as normal, pretending to be each other? Or should they hole up in their rooms and not come out until this passes?

No, he doesn’t want to hide. While he can miss classes for a few days, the team would grow suspicious if he doesn’t show up, and if people start asking questions, this could turn ugly. He doubts Oikawa would want him to hide away too. Fukurodani may not need him necessarily, but Aoba Johsai needs Oikawa Tooru.

They need Oikawa. Not an outsider in Oikawa’s body.

Akaashi slumps over the sink. He hasn’t moved for at least ten minutes. He doesn’t know where to start. His mind is only just coming around to the fact that this is real, and it’s not a dream. Calling Oikawa to confirm his suspicions is a starting point. He can use Oikawa’s phone to call his cell phone, no problem.

He digs Oikawa’s phone out of his covers when there is a loud knock from downstairs. It has to be at the front door. Akaashi stiffens.

He can’t be expected to answer the door, can he?

What are the odds of someone breaking in when Oikawa isn’t technically around to defend his house?

Akaashi doesn’t have time to even begin answering these questions before the sound of the door being thrown open reaches him. A quick conversation is had downstairs, and Akaashi starts typing his number to call his cell phone.

The footsteps thundering up the stairs don’t give him the chance to finish though, and the phone flies out of his hand when the bedroom door is thrown open, knocking against the wall hard enough to make a dent in the paint.

Iwaizumi Hajime stares at him, unblinking and unflinching, as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Why the hell aren’t you dressed yet?”

Akaashi drops his gaze to Iwaizumi’s outfit. He’s wearing a Seijoh tracksuit, implying that they might have morning practice, and he has both a backpack and a duffle in hand. “I…”

“Come on, moron. We have to hurry up, or we’re going to be late. What kind of example are we setting if the captain and the vice-captain show up late?”

“Alright.” Akaashi turns towards his dresser, determined to avoid Iwaizumi’s gaze as much as possible. The foolish thought that Iwaizumi will figure out that he’s not actually Oikawa simply by staring at him sticks in the back of his mind. He starts pulling out the drawers in search of a tracksuit identical to Iwaizumi’s, but clearly, he’s taking too long.

Iwaizumi lets out an aggrieved noise. “Ugh,” he says, shoving Akaashi over. The motion catches Akaashi so off guard that he topples backwards. “Move it, or we’re going to be late.” He yanks out the bottom drawer and fishes out the identical tracksuit Akaashi had been searching for. The two of them must have a close relationship if Iwaizumi knows exactly where every article of clothing Oikawa owns is stored.

This is going to be even harder to pull off than he’d originally thought. If Iwaizumi recognizes Oikawa to every strand of hair and dust in his room, there’s no way he won’t pick up on Akaashi’s natural formalities. He’s never had this sort of casual relationship with anyone. He’s not sure how he should act or where the lines are drawn.

There’s only one person he could consider knowing him this deeply and intensely. And he’s—not here.

“Do I have to dress you too?” Iwaizumi demands. He hauls Akaashi to his feet by fisting his hand into Akaashi’s shirt. “Come on, Shittykawa. We don’t have all day.”

Akaashi pulls off his shirt and begins dressing, only noticing after he’s started that Iwaizumi has turned away.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Huh?” Akaashi tugs the aqua shirt over his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being oddly…compliant today. You haven’t actually said a word since I’ve gotten here. Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept fine,” Akaashi says warily. He’s ten minutes into this, and he’s already raised suspicions. How is this meant to work for a whole day? What if this lasts longer? At least this isn’t a lie. He did sleep well. “Why?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. He bends down to pick up a backpack Akaashi hadn’t noticed before and starts pushing Oikawa’s books inside before zipping it up. “Where’s your duffle?”

Akaashi freezes while tugging his sweatpants over his ankles. “Shouldn’t you know?” he says, half because he knows Oikawa taunts Iwaizumi—he picked up on that much yesterday, half because he doesn’t know the answer himself.

Iwaizumi kneels to draw a duffle out from beneath Oikawa’s bed just as Akaashi pulls the sweatshirt over his shoulders. “Hurry up, Oikawa. We’re actually going to be late at this rate.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Not a lie. Akaashi purposely sets his alarm earlier than it needs to be because he’s someone who likes ample time to get ready in the morning. Clearly, he would not survive a day in Iwaizumi’s boot camp.

“I’m going to wait downstairs,” Iwaizumi says. “Do me a favor, and pick up the pace.”

“Alright, Iwaizumi,” he murmurs.

At that, Iwaizumi turns on the spot to face him. Though his face is calm, his eyes are piercing. “What did you call me?”

Oh no. Oh _no._ He’s slipped up already. Akaashi wracks his brain for any memory of what Oikawa calls Iwaizumi. They’re obviously close. They’re familiar. Iwaizumi had just slipped _out._ He hadn’t considered the fact that they likely use nicknames for each other. What did Oikawa call Iwaizumi yesterday?

“Iwa,” Akaashi corrects.

His gaze loses its harshness, but Akaashi feels in his gut that he’s given himself away. _Don’t panic,_ he thinks. There’s no way Iwaizumi is going to jump to the conclusion that he’s Akaashi Keiji in Oikawa’s body. He’d think Oikawa was playing a practical joke on him. That’s some consolation.

“I’ve been asking you to stop calling me Iwa-chan for years, and you pick today of all days,” Iwaizumi says. “What’s so special about today?”

Oh. He recalls now. He can almost hear Oikawa’s whine as he said it yesterday. _Iwa-chan_.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispers, far too soft. It’s nothing like how Oikawa said it.

Iwaizumi softens—almost imperceptibly. Akaashi only notices because he’s looking so closely for any indicator of where he’s messing up.

“Are you okay?”

Akaashi paints on a smile that doesn’t belong to him. It doesn’t feel like his at all. “Of course, Iwa-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!
> 
> i'm on twitter @akaashikejis :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of your lovely comments last chapter! they rly made my week!

Oikawa doesn’t regret hitting Akaashi in the face with his spike anymore. After being ignored three times, he’s out of options, and his panic has risen each time the call has gone to voicemail. A voice at the back of his mind whispers that Akaashi could be in trouble, but if that’s the case, he should still shoot Oikawa a text so that _he_ doesn’t wind up in trouble too.

Until Akaashi answers his calls, he doesn’t have much else to do. He can sit in Akaashi’s bedroom all day—or he can go out and attempt to go about Akaashi’s daily routine. Maybe doing so will prompt the change back into his own body. It’s a long shot, but he has little else to go off of.

With that, Oikawa gets dressed. He thanks Akaashi under his breath for being far more organized than he could ever be as he puts on each article of the Fukurodani Academy uniform. Considering Akaashi left it out, he’s assuming they don’t have morning practice. He’s missing his own morning practice back in Miyagi though.

Oikawa hopes that Akaashi has enough sense to fake being him long enough to escape notice. There’s no way Akaashi will be able to hole up in his room. Iwaizumi will break down the door for sure and drag him out kicking and screaming if he has to. That means Akaashi will have to pass off as Oikawa and take on the role of captain for the morning practice.

Akaashi is Fukurodani’s vice-captain. He knows enough about leadership to get by. But Akaashi seems far too sensible and formal to be able to act as him convincingly enough. Someone will notice. Maybe not the underclassmen, but… Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi will definitely notice that something is wrong.

Why wouldn’t Akaashi pick up his freaking calls?

Oikawa assumes that Akaashi’s left his duffel bag at Fukurodani because he can’t find it anywhere after several minutes of searching. It would be nice if they didn’t even have practice today. That would give him another day to process this and talk to Akaashi over the phone. Then Akaashi can tell him how to adjust his sets for his team.

There are so many unknown factors that his head is starting to hurt. He doesn’t know where Fukurodani is located. Even though he was just there yesterday, he didn’t have enough sense of his directions and surroundings to remember the address. He’s certain Akaashi doesn’t live down the street from his school, meaning he probably has to catch a bus or a train, and all he can imagine right now is him missing the correct stop and ending up in the middle of nowhere.

After brushing his teeth and going through Akaashi’s morning routine as best as he can without guidance, he heads downstairs. The house is as silent as ever, but there’s a bento box waiting for Akaashi on the counter. With Akaashi’s wallet and phone in hand, there’s not much else he can do but leave. It’s better than waiting around for something to happen.

* * *

It takes Oikawa an embarrassingly long time to remember that fingerprint identification is a thing and that he could’ve unlocked Akaashi’s phone a long time ago. This is his saving grace at least. He searches Fukurodani Academy on the GPS and—again—thanks Akaashi’s constant organization as the usual bus route is highlighted for him. After that, all he has to do is follow the tiny dot that represents him walking down the street to the correct route. He’s definitely an awful sight, constantly looking down at his phone and bumping into other passerby, but he is too out of touch with his surroundings to do anything about it.

By the time he spots Fukurodani Academy in the distance, he breathes a sigh of relief. The bus ride wasn’t all that bad, even if an older man spent most of the journey leaning too close to him. Oikawa quickens his step.

He’s here. Step one is done. Now—he has to figure out Akaashi’s class number. Figure out where the class is located inside the enormous school. Try not to get caught.

But all of these little steps fly out of his mind the second he catches sight of the figure standing near the entrance closest to Oikawa.

Bokuto Koutarou.

Will Bokuto notices him if he speed walks past?

Oikawa is about to attempt it when Bokuto chooses that moment to look up. “Akaashi!” he shouts once they make eye contact. “Good morning!”

Well. He’s screwed. Oikawa takes his time tracing the path over to where Bokuto is. All the while, he’s running through his conversation yesterday with Akaashi. The two of them certainly seem close—especially considering Akaashi is not the kind of person who is forward with his affection—but it still seems a bit strange that a third year would wait outside school for his underclassmen. Akaashi does seem aware of this. If Oikawa is remembering correctly, he addresses Bokuto formally despite their relationship.

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” he greets the second he’s close enough. Does Akaashi smile? Why can’t he recall anything Akaashi has ever done? He smiles a little, hoping it doesn’t rouse any suspicion. “What’s up?”

“You’re in a good mood,” Bokuto says. Oikawa’s stomach turns. He needs to turn down his usual enthusiasm. Clearly, Akaashi is far more reserved than he’d thought—even with his teammates. “Did something happen?”

Oikawa shrugs. “I slept well.”

Bokuto nods before heading inside. It takes Oikawa a second to realize that he should be following.

“So did I,” Bokuto says. “That game really tired me out so I was out like a light.”

Oikawa hums. He can’t help but look every which way. His senses are being overloaded. These hallways are unfamiliar, the faces are unrecognizable, and his only connection to what he knows is the person leading in front.

He wonders if he should be taking this as a learning opportunity. He’s getting the chance to study one of Japan’s top five aces on a high school level in his day-to-day life without him knowing. He could savor this.

On the other hand, he’s not sure watching Bokuto do his math coursework would give him a real edge on the court.

Bokuto still chatters away, and all Oikawa can do is stick close to him. If he trails too far behind, he worries he’ll be taken away by the wave of students moving in the opposite direction. Bokuto cuts an imposing enough figure. People tend to clear the path for him. Not because they’re afraid or wary of him, but because Bokuto is one of those people who takes up space before he even walks through it.

Oikawa considers himself one of those people, but his personality isn’t larger than life. It’s early, and yet, Bokuto is moving with eagerness of someone well into their day.

“Uh, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto stops speaking and looks back at him. He’s giving Oikawa his full attention without any hesitation. Oikawa almost reels back before he catches himself.

“Uh, we have practice today, right?”

Bokuto blinks. “Of course we do,” he says, and Oikawa bites the inside of his cheek. This was one confirmation he needed. Hopefully, Bokuto doesn’t find anything weird about it. “Why?”

“Just checking.”

They reach the end of the hallway where it splits off into two sets of stairs going in opposite directions. Oikawa moves to follow Bokuto when Bokuto stops. It’s so sudden that Oikawa runs face-first into his back. “Oof,” he mutters.

“’Kaashi, what are you doing?”

“What?” Oikawa steps back. “What do you mean?”

“Your class is that way.” Bokuto points up the other set of stairs.

Oikawa flounders. Now that Bokuto is here, he doesn’t actually want to separate from him. He’s sure that no matter how weird he acts, Bokuto would stick by him. Oikawa doesn’t want to walk into a random classroom and take notes for a _second-year._ It’s like repeating high school all over again.

He may barely know Bokuto Koutarou, but right now, he’s all he has.

“Um, right,” he mumbles, looking up the stairs that Bokuto pointed out. “Bokuto, we’re really close, aren’t we?”

Bokuto’s eyes look like they might pop out of his head. “Of course, ’Kaashi! We’re super close! You’re probably my best friend.” He pauses, which helps in Oikawa’s case because all he can do right now is stare. “Wait—not probably! You are!”

“Right,” is all Oikawa says. Bokuto is staring at him so earnestly that it’s starting to make him feel weird. Like this is a conversation he shouldn’t be hearing. “Prove it then: do you know my class number?”

Bokuto doesn’t even have to think about it. “2-6!” His brows furrow. “Of course I know it. Did you think I forgot?”

“Nope, I was just testing you,” Oikawa says. He takes two steps away from Bokuto. His tone is far too breezy to pass as Akaashi at the moment, but Bokuto is unnerving him more than he’d expected him to. He’d hoped that Bokuto would be clueless, letting any blunder of his go unnoticed. He’s starting to consider that Bokuto might be the one that discovers his secret first. “Anyway, got to go! I’ll see you later, Bokuto-san!”

Oikawa hopes he’s imagining the stare bearing into the back of his head as he walks away.

* * *

Iwaizumi is right. They do arrive late. Only by a few minutes though.

Iwaizumi ushers him into the changing room, leaving only a minute later in order to start morning practice, but Akaashi hangs behind. Outside that door is an entire team waiting for his leadership and flawless sets, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to deliver.

Despite the weird looks Iwaizumi sent him during their walk to Aoba Johsai, he didn’t say anything else about his somber mood. But pretending to be someone else in front of one person is completely different to doing it in front of an entire team. Akaashi feels like he’s on a timer, set on an inevitable countdown, and the second he missteps, it’ll go off.

He knows he needs to be upbeat. He knows he needs to know exactly how Seijoh works. But he doesn’t, and he can’t remember ever being this nervous for a practice before. Even before his first practice for Fukurodani, he was more excited than anything else, even if he’d reined that thrill in on a tight leash.

Akaashi can at least send Oikawa a quick text message to check in before everything goes to hell. He takes out Oikawa’s phone, only to find several missed calls from an unknown number that he recognizes as his own.

He calls Oikawa back, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he starts to put Oikawa’s duffel away.

There’s a click before a voice bursts onto the other side. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to call you all morning, and you call me back _now_?”

It’s definitely his voice, but it’s unsettling being on this side of it. It’s almost like listening back to an old home video, and you’re convinced that the person speaking can’t be you, because there’s no way you sound like that. “Oikawa-san?”

“I’m sorry—have you switched bodies with any _other_ people?”

Akaashi pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. I was making sure.”

“Mmhmm. Where are you right now?”

“Your school. Iwaizumi came to fetch me. I couldn’t stay home even if I tried.”

“That’s why I called to warn you,” Oikawa says, and the petulant whine he’s known for shines through. “I knew he was going to do that. You’re at practice now?”

“In the changing rooms.” Akaashi lowers his voice. He knows there’s an endless amount of things they should discuss: how this happened, what their next step is, how they’ll switch back. But Akaashi knows this call is limited, and he expects Iwaizumi to burst through the door any second now. He’s stayed behind long enough. “Listen. We have a lot to discuss, Oikawa-san. But that has to be on hold for now. Your team is waiting for me to step out of this room, head over to the gym, and be _you._ How am I meant to do that?”

“Akaashi-kun,” Oikawa says. “Don’t sound so down already. I’m panicking enough for the both of us!” He pauses. “Okay, you have to call me again when you can, but I’ll give you enough pointers to survive the morning. I’m going to tell you a very important secret.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Push some of the responsibility onto Iwa-chan.”

What. “What?”

“I’m serious. He’s already at the gym, isn’t he? He’s given you some time alone. He knows I’m upset that we didn’t win yesterday, so he’s taking the reins for a bit. If you still look a bit pouty, he’ll feel bad. He won’t say it or show it outwardly, so he’ll attempt to make things better by taking on more of the responsibility today. You probably won’t have to say much. Just try to be peppier than your usual self. You could bear to smile more, Akaashi-kun. You’re going to get frown lines.”

Akaashi ignores the last comment. “Do you do this purposely? The pouting and moping, I mean?”

“Not intentionally,” Oikawa murmurs, and Akaashi can imagine him wincing. “It’s something I’ve noticed over the years though. It’s…he’s trying to help as best as he can.”

“Okay.” He can do that. He was planning on trying to do that anyway, but now that Oikawa confirmed that Iwaizumi will be inclined to do so already, he can breathe a little easier. “What about your sets? Should I do them a certain way?”

“You’re a setter, Akaashi-kun!” Oikawa says, as if Akaashi has forgotten. “This is second nature for you. And me. I’d say just stick to medium sets. Not too low. I don’t have the time to explain how each of my teammates likes their sets, so we’ll have to make do. Oh, I’ve been trying to get Kindaichi to hit his spikes from a higher point, so if you could adjust to that, that would be great.”

Akaashi asks, deadpan, “Who’s Kindaichi?”

“First-year, middle blocker, super tall. His hair kind of looks like a turnip.”

“You don’t say that to his face, do you?”

“Of course not! I treat all of my first years well, thank you. Oh, and Iwa-chan doesn’t like his sets too far away from the net either! He’ll get mad if you do that.”

“Okay.” That sounds manageable. Like Oikawa says, he’s a setter too. This is second nature for him. All he has to do is go out and perform like he’s always done. This isn’t an important match or a practice game. “Anything else?”

Oikawa hums as he mulls the question over. “No, I think you’re good. If someone with blonde hair and a really angry-looking face shows up, just shove him in Iwa-chan’s direction. He’ll take care of him.”

“What about classes? Anything important I should know?”

“I hang out the most with Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa-chan. Oh! Makki has light brown hair, he’s kind of an idiot, and he’s a wing spiker. Mattsun is our other starting middle blocker, and he kind of looks like he could get away with murder. He has those vibes. You’re in class 3-6. Iwa-chan is in class 3-5, so you should follow him most of the way. In fact, just cling to him.”

“Is that because it’s in character for you or for my general safety?”

Oikawa huffs. “Don’t gain a sense of humor on me now, Akaashi-kun. You should go. The team will be wondering where you are. Please do a good job acting so they don’t miss me too much.”

This time, it’s Akaashi who huffs. He almost hangs up the phone, but he remembers his manners first. “Bye, Oikawa-san.”

* * *

If Akaashi really considers it, he’s not doing an _awful_ job. But he can sense that his unusual behavior has been picked up on. He tries to follow Oikawa’s instructions as best as he can, even though he’s aware that his teammates will realize that the sets don’t have the same arc as usual. He even attempts to talk more than he usually would, but judging by everyone’s wide-eyed stares, he’s still not matching up to Oikawa’s standards.

It’s not entirely his fault though. He doesn’t know everyone on the Seijoh team by name, so when a first-year with a middle part comes up and tells him to stop sending him the ball so many times, all Akaashi can do is stare.

They’ve noticed his lack of communication.

Akaashi is aware that this team can perform so much better under different circumstances, but he’s also aware that he’s not the setter who can bring out those strengths. The one who can is in Tokyo, likely getting lost within Fukurodani’s walls. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure if Oikawa actually made it to school. Their conversation had been so quick, and Akaashi hadn’t gotten the chance to ask.

The one saving grace of the morning is Iwaizumi.

Oikawa’s right. He’s speaking when Akaashi falters, he’s calling for the ball when Akaashi hesitates, and he’s reining the other third years in when they rib him for his third missed set of the day. (Oikawa’s also right on the fact that Mattsun looks like he could get away with murder, but that’s not the point.)

Iwaizumi knows that Akaashi—or Oikawa—isn’t up to the task today, so he takes on the responsibility. It’s certainly reassuring. It gives Akaashi the space he needs to merely focus on performing his sets exactly right.

On top of that, the angry-looking kid never shows up, which is another win—in Akaashi’s book.

“Again,” Iwaizumi mutters while they’ve stopped for a water break. “He hasn’t showed up. _Again._ ”

Akaashi doesn’t know who he’s referring to. He keeps his mouth shut.

“We know he’s practicing at least,” Matsukawa says. “That makes it slightly better.”

“Yeah, but if he doesn’t show up, we might have a repeat of what Oikawa and Matsukawa just did five minutes ago,” Hanamaki says with a sly smile.

Akaashi’s grip around his water bottle tightens. He doesn’t need to be reminded. The second Matsukawa missed his set, his stomach dropped.

“Lay off him,” Iwaizumi orders.

And surprisingly, that’s that.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time afternoon practice rolls around, Oikawa still hasn’t heard back from Akaashi. All of his text messages have gone unanswered, and even though he has an inkling that the reason Akaashi isn’t responding is because he hasn’t had time alone to do so, he still has the urge to dump all of the notes he carefully took in the second-year’s advanced classes in the trash out of spite. He wonders what he’s done to deserve repeating this year again. If he has to spend more than a week in Akaashi’s body, he’s tempted to drop out completely.

Oikawa still remembers where the changing rooms are. That is something at least. He doesn’t need to hunt down another member of the team and trail them the whole way. In fact, he’s tried avoiding the rest of Fukurodani as much as he can. He’s positive he spotted Bokuto looking for Akaashi at lunch, and he dashed in the other direction.

But there’s no avoiding them anymore. When he steps into the gymnasium, dressed in Akaashi’s practice clothes, the rest of the team is trailing in. It’s weird not wearing his brace, but he tries not to think about that as he joins the rest of the team.

During his entire walk to the gym, he’s debated how he’s going to set. He gave Akaashi the advice of doing medium sets, and he’s inclined to do the same now. Without Akaashi’s pointers, he’s on his own, and he has to adjust as he goes along. Normally, this wouldn’t bother him—if he were in his own body. His first instinct is to ask his teammates how they like his sets and what he can improve on to make them easier to hit, but Akaashi already _knows_ how his teammates like their sets. He wouldn’t have to ask.

Oikawa straightens his shoulders. He just has to try his best. If Akaashi has an off day, then so be it. Akaashi is allowed his off days. Even if those days are merely days when someone else is pretending to be Akaashi and failing miserably.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries out as he nears. “How were your classes today? I didn’t see you at lunch. Where were you?”

So. Oikawa was right that he saw Bokuto. That means he’s again drawn Bokuto’s attention to himself more than usual. Not good. “I had to speak to one of my classmates about an upcoming assignment. Sorry.”

Bokuto is assuaged by that response. “That’s alright!”

Someone claps their hands behind them, and the whole team turns to see Fukurodani’s coach. He gestures at the nets that have already been raised by the two managers. “Today,” he begins—and Oikawa really wishes that someone would address him by name because he cannot recall it for the life of him, “we’ll start with some spiking practice. Komi, you go to the other side of the net to receive. Akaashi, you get into position to set. Everyone else, line up.”

Oikawa turns on his foot and marches over to where the setter stands. If this is the drill he’s expecting, he’ll be handed volleyballs and have to spike them towards whoever is in front. They’ll bump it, and he’ll perform the set. It’s the attacker’s job then to finish it off. He’s done this numerous times before but there’s an extra sense of anticipation this time around. It’s a drill focused completely on the setter linking up with their attackers. It’s basically like being thrown into the deep end when you hoped you could dangle your feet in the water first.

Oikawa slides a glance towards Komi on the other side of the net, looking unfazed and prepared. He gives up a thumbs-up when he notices Oikawa looking at him, and one of the managers drags the basket of volleyballs over to him. She hands him the first.

Oikawa steels himself with a sharp breath, running his hand over the volleyball. This is second nature to him. He can adjust. Akaashi did this earlier today, and he survived—well, probably. The verdict is still out on that considering the second-year has yet to respond to him.

Unsurprisingly, Bokuto is first in line, knees bent and hands raised in front of him. There’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes, and Oikawa obliges him. He spikes it downward.

Bokuto receives it nicely, and Oikawa has a split second to watch Bokuto start his run up.

 _Medium set,_ he chants to himself. _Medium set, medium set, medium set._

The ball settles into the bowl of his hands, and Oikawa pushes it upward like it’s nothing. The resounding slap when Bokuto makes contact settles all of his nerves instantly. It’s like he can breathe properly for the first time since arriving in the gym. The spike lands neatly into the far right corner on the other side, and although Komi makes a nice attempt to fetch it, it’s fruitless in the end.

That wasn’t so bad. That was pretty good.

Oikawa looks over at Bokuto with a grin, all too pleased with himself to remember to tone down the enthusiasm. But Bokuto is staring at him with his head tilted. He doesn’t blink. It’s completely unnerving, and Oikawa’s jaw clenches.

“Bokuto, you’re holding up the line,” Konoha complains. “Some of us want to get in on the action. We’re not all on the list of the top five aces in Japan, you know!”

Bokuto startles out of whatever trance he was in. “Sorry!” He dashes to take his place at the back of the line.

Konoha is next. Oikawa takes the next outstretched volleyball and readies his hand to spike it. Well, here goes.

* * *

Oikawa is choosing to be optimistic. It could’ve gone much worse.

Although a few of his sets are missed, he doesn’t think they’re too far off to draw concern. The coach flits his eyes over to him a few times, but he says nothing. Oikawa switches between chanting _medium sets_ and _Akaashi’s allowed to have a bad day_ to himself to stay grounded.

He’s never thought about how different it is to practice with a team that isn’t your own. He finds himself missing Mattsun and Makki’s taunts, and Kindaichi’s earnest awe, and even Iwaizumi’s insults. Fukurodani is a fun team. There’s no doubt about that. But he misses Aoba Johsai.

It makes him hope even harder that this is only temporary. He wants to wake up tomorrow back in his body. He wants his team. He wants to be able to face his opponents as himself.

Oikawa is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the approach of footsteps behind him.

“So,” someone says, and Oikawa tenses as Konoha braces his elbow on his shoulder, “what have you done, Akaashi?”

Fear races down his spine, and he hopes that Konoha doesn’t feel him freeze in place. “What do you mean?” he forces out.

“Are you kidding?” Komi jumps in. “How have you not noticed Bokuto staring at you for the majority of practice?”

What. “What?”

The middle blocker he now knows as Washio nods his head. “We were worried because we thought he was slipping into one of his moods.” The others nod in agreement. “But he’s still playing well.”

“ _So_ ,” Konoha repeats, “what have _you_ done?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Oikawa says even as he runs through every moment in practice where he’s set to Bokuto personally. Yes, there were a few that missed, but he thinks he’s done a good enough job to fly under the radar. If that were the case, he thinks that the rest of the team would bring up the quality of his sets right away.

“Okay, fine,” Konoha says. “What are you going to do to fix it?”

“Fix it?”

Komi arches an eyebrow. “No offense, Akaashi, but if anyone’s going to get through to Bokuto, it’s you.” There’s a beat. “You always step up to the plate. That’s… well, that’s how you two are. I’m actually shocked you didn’t realize he was acting differently.”

Right. Akaashi’s always analyzing ten steps ahead. But what do they mean by stepping up to the plate? What is he meant to do?

* * *

In the end, Bokuto is the one that approaches him. “Akaashi!”

Oikawa freezes and turns toward Bokuto, who is racing toward him. Konoha whispers “Fix it” under his breath as he walks past, and Oikawa has to resist the urge to trip him. From what he’s gathered, Konoha and his snark would deserve it.

Oikawa straightens, fixing his features into his best attempt at Akaashi’s quintessential stoic expression. “Yes, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto twiddles his fingers. “Well, you see, I was wondering…”

“Bokuto-san.”

“Are you mad at me?” Bokuto bursts out, his arms falling to his sides.

“Huh?” His expression falls. “What are you talking about?”

He hasn’t given Bokuto any reason to believe that Akaashi is angry at him. Sure, the class number question was a sneaky trick, but he didn’t expect that to bother Bokuto. He seems like someone who is rarely bothered, but Oikawa is starting to reconsider that.

“You’re not giving me your usual sets,” Bokuto says, miming a set as if Oikawa doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “They feel different somehow! I can tell when I hit them. I don’t know. I can’t explain it! But there’s something off!”

Bokuto Koutarou…is far more intuitive than Oikawa ever gave him credit for. He’s always thought that Akaashi perfects his sets for Bokuto, but maybe that goes both ways. Maybe Bokuto has perfected his spikes for Akaashi too. If that’s the case and the two of them have a connection similar to his and…Iwaizumi’s, Oikawa is screwed.

Oikawa can’t even grasp how Bokuto has almost hit the nail on the head without meaning to. Surely, the fact that he and Akaashi are both setters should mask the general missteps they take, but Bokuto has figured him out regardless. He knows that the sets are off. He has known since the first set Oikawa gave him.

“Bokuto-san,” he says, trying to fight through the rush of panic, “uh… I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ll try to fix that for tomorrow. But I really have to catch the bus home.” Oikawa jerks a thumb behind him.

“Oh. Sorry.” Bokuto slumps a little. “I’m not complaining or anything! I was just wondering!”

“You’re fine, Bokuto-san,” Oikawa says. “This is on me. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Oikawa walks marginally quicker than he normally would, and he tries not to run the second he’s out of sight.

* * *

The classes are more stressful than Akaashi considered they would be. It’s not like Aoba Johsai is more academically challenging, and he thinks he does a decent job of taking down notes for Oikawa to study later on. But as he undergoes the day, he remains conscious of the stares that follow him down the hall or during lessons. His eyes flick over to the crowds of girls that flock around each corner. He’s aware Oikawa has an attractive face, but he’s not sure it warrants this much attention. Akaashi tries to ignore the small crowds as best as he can.

In fact, he follows Oikawa’s advice once more, and Akaashi clings to Iwaizumi whenever he can. During lunch, he seeks him out, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki join the pair. Although he’s likely more subdued than Oikawa should act, he doesn’t mind sitting back and letting the conversation flow between the others.

As it turns out, Matsukawa and Hanamaki—or as Oikawa calls them, Mattsun and Makki—are incredibly funny. Many of their jokes are at Oikawa’s expense, so Akaashi plays along with mock offense, but on the inside, he’s cackling. Iwaizumi doesn’t provide much input other than a comment here and there. Yet Akaashi is comfortable. Now that he knows for certain that he can use the loss yesterday as an excuse for Oikawa’s sullen mood, he uses it to his advantage.

Seijoh’s afternoon practice goes better. His sets aren’t perfect, but the degree to which the mistakes are made are smaller than they were this morning. Akaashi still doesn’t believe he’s bringing out the team’s best qualities, yet he’s letting himself be satisfied.

They’ve finished doing their last stretches for the day as the last bit of practice before everyone heads home. Akaashi rises from the floor once he’s completed his usual set of stretches.

“You have noticed Iwaizumi’s murderous glares this way, haven’t you?” Hanamaki asks from his position on the floor. He has his feet pushed against each other while he stretches, and his gaze is fixed across the gymnasium.

“Huh?” Akaashi glances over in Iwaizumi’s direction, and sure enough, his look can only be described as murderous. He blinks. He’s not sure what he’s done wrong. Unless Iwaizumi has somehow figured out who he really is. That’s unlikely though. It’s too far-fetched of a conclusion to stumble upon without concrete evidence.

“I only just noticed, so it must be a recent fuck-up of yours,” he continues mildly. “What have you done in the last ten minutes to anger your precious Iwa-chan?”

“I—” There’s a slight twinge in his knee, and he breaks off to look down at his leg.

Before Akaashi can respond, Matsukawa wanders over. The rest of the team have already filtered out, only leaving behind the third-years as everything has been tidied away.

“Come on, time to head home,” he tells Hanamaki.

The latter jumps to his feet, and before Akaashi can brace himself, Hanamaki jabs his stomach. “Good luck with that, Oikawa,” he says.

“See you tomorrow,” Matsukawa adds.

The pair wave before filing out of the gymnasium. Akaashi is now acutely aware that there are only two people left in the room. He is also acutely aware that Iwaizumi is now marching towards him.

“Iwa-chan,” is all Akaashi says before Iwaizumi clenches his fist into his shirt and tugs him along.

Iwaizumi drags him out of the gymnasium and into the changing rooms, grumbling the entire way. Akaashi attempts to ask what’s wrong, but when he’s left unanswered, he falls silent. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of Iwaizumi’s tight grip. He’s surprisingly strong, and Akaashi’s nerves are growing with each step they take.

It’s only when they’re inside the club room that Iwaizumi releases him. “Sit,” Iwaizumi says, pointing at the bench, leaving no room for any pushback.

Akaashi obeys and takes a seat, resisting the urge to dig his nails into his palms. This is it. Iwaizumi looks like he might actually kill him. It would be nice to find out what he’s being murdered for, but—

“What do you think you’re doing, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi demands, his hands resting on his hips. His words are sharp and blunt, and it makes Akaashi want to confess to a crime he hasn’t committed.

“What?” he blurts out.

“You know what!” Iwaizumi points at his right knee, the one Akaashi had felt a slight twinge in only minutes ago. “Why the hell aren’t you wearing your brace?”

That one question is all it takes for Akaashi’s stomach to sink. He’s not even considering that Iwaizumi will notice the panic in his expression and that he’s no longer acting like Oikawa. Akaashi feels on the verge of throwing up and bursting into tears all at once. When he’d dressed for practice this morning, he’d found two kneepads in Oikawa’s bag along with a brace, but he’d thought that the brace was only for emergencies. He didn’t realize Oikawa needed to wear it all the time.

The twinge in his knee. That’s—

Akaashi presses a hand to his mouth.

What if he’s done irreversible damage? What if Oikawa’s knee will revert back to how it was before? What if he’s ruined everything?

His thoughts are running at a hundred miles a minute, and Akaashi is completely out of it. He hasn’t heard Iwaizumi’s rant for the past few seconds. He hasn’t heard anything beyond the thunder in his heartbeat. His nails dig into his left palm until it’s almost painful.

“I don’t understand!” Iwaizumi is saying. “I thought you’d gotten past this. The brace doesn’t make you weak, Oikawa! But you have to take care of yourself—”

“Iwa-chan.”

“—otherwise you’ll fall right back into old habits—”

“Iwa-chan.”

“—and you can’t do that to yourself.”

“ _Iwaizumi._ ” Akaashi’s voice is flat and firm, and it’s jarring to hear his unyielding manner of speaking coming out of Oikawa’s mouth.

It must shock Iwaizumi too, because he stops speaking and lets his attention fall completely on Akaashi.

He has to tell him. If he’s done serious damage, then he isn’t going to stay silent. This has gone beyond merely pretending and acting. And the only person who will know how to fix this other than Oikawa is standing in front of him.

“Iwaizumi-san, I have to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: oikawa's knee injury mentioned in this chapter actually isn't canon. it's been accepted as canon in the fandom, but it is never confirmed on the page in the manga or the anime. i decided to include it in this fic because of several reasons: (1) knee injuries are super common in volleyball, and they don't necessarily come from overworking oneself; (2) oikawa is a very formidable character that shows us that injuries aren't career-ending and that vulnerabilities aren't weaknesses.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloOo. today happens to be my birthday, but instead of giving me a gift, i'm giving you one! yay! hope you enjoy this long-awaited chapter.

Iwaizumi stares open-mouthed at Akaashi after he explains the situation to the best of his ability. It takes ten minutes of pacing back and forth, two minutes of muttering “this can’t be happening,” another minute of saying “this is a prank” and poking Akaashi in the forehead, before Iwaizumi agrees to let Akaashi call Oikawa.

Thankfully, Oikawa answers on the first ring, and Akaashi switches the call to speakerphone. Iwaizumi stands over him, and Akaashi isn’t lying when he says it’s quite intimidating. He wonders if Iwaizumi would kick him off the bench.

“Akaashi-kun!” Oikawa greets. Akaashi watches as Iwaizumi’s mouth slackens. It might’ve taken him this long to come to terms with the conclusion, but he can see the pieces adding up now. Even when speaking with Akaashi’s voice, that characteristic enthusiasm can’t be masked—especially not to his best friend. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you all day! I have a lot to tell you, but I’m walking to your house from the bus stop. Can I call you back in, like, twenty minutes?”

“Oikawa-san,” Akaashi says, “I told Iwaizumi-san everything.”

“You _what?_ ”

Apparently, Iwaizumi’s patience has run out, and he snatches the phone out of Akaashi’s grasp. “Tell me this is a joke,” he hisses. “Tell me this is some messed up dream that I’m having. Prove that you’re Oikawa Tooru.”

Oikawa is silent on the other end.

“Trashykawa, I mean it.”

Oikawa releases a deep sigh before beginning a tirade of all the embarrassing things Iwaizumi has ever done since childhood. It’s extremely personal and extremely embarrassing, and Akaashi feels his own face heat up as Oikawa mentions specifics that only the real Oikawa Tooru would know. It must be enough to make Iwaizumi believe him because his face matches Akaashi’s in color and his grip on the phone loosens.

“Fine,” he says. “I believe you. This makes absolute zero sense, but I believe you.”

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa titters. “I guess this does make things easier on our part. That is—if we don’t wind up changing back tonight.”

“Don’t manifest that,” Akaashi protests. “Don’t put that thought into the universe.”

“I still have a million freaking questions,” Iwaizumi interrupts.

“So do I,” Oikawa cuts in. “Odds are that we have the same questions and the same lack of answers. Akaashi and I only know what we’ve told you. Nothing beyond that. Nothing about this makes sense. That’s why—”

“Do not mention aliens. I will actually take a train to Tokyo and murder you if you mention that aliens are involved.”

Oikawa hums, letting the rest of his sentence fall unspoken. “Why did you tell Iwa-chan anyway, Akaashi-kun? If we switch back tonight, there’s no need to stress out over it.”

Akaashi bites on the inside of his cheek. That panic that had surged inside him before returns at the question, and he feels the flush strengthen because of his own nerves. He opens his mouth. Oikawa deserves an explanation at least. And an apology.

“I heard him talking to himself,” Iwaizumi answers, ignoring the look Akaashi sends his way. “I made him confess what was going on. I thought he—well, you—were being a weirdo and talking in the third person. I didn’t realize that he would tell me…” He waves his hand in the air. “…all this.”

“Akaashi-kun! Talking to yourself is a sign of madness, you know.”

Akaashi blows out a puff of air. He’s not sure why Iwaizumi is covering for him, but he’d be lying if he said he isn’t glad for it.

“You and Akaashi can talk later, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says. “We still have to get home, and we have some things to discuss.”

“Alright, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “Don’t be mean to Akaashi-kun.”

“Why would I?” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Now that I know he’s not you, I have no reason to be mean to him.”

Oikawa scoffs, and Akaashi can imagine his pout. “Bye then. Bye, Iwa-chan. Bye, Akaashi-kun. You better call me. Do _not_ leave me hanging.”

“I will,” Akaashi murmurs. “When you get home, my parents likely won’t be there yet, so feel free to take leftovers up to my room and hole up there. It’s not out of the ordinary for me.”

“Got it.” He pauses. “Miss you, Iwa-chan.”

“Miss you too,” Iwaizumi says quickly, as if he doesn’t want to hear Oikawa’s response to that, and he hangs up the call. He hands the phone back to Akaashi.

“You didn’t tell him about the knee,” Akaashi says as he tucks the phone away. “What if something is wrong?”

“It’s an old injury,” Iwaizumi says. He kneels to prod at Akaashi’s right knee and pulls the kneepad down to his ankle to inspect it. “He wears the brace now for the support. If you’re feeling some discomfort, it’s just from the exertion of practice without the brace. Sometimes that happens. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Akaashi hears the unspoken words there: _nothing to worry him about._

“So,” Akaashi asks, “he’s going to be fine?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi stops pressing his fingers against Akaashi’s knee and tugs the kneepad back up. “He’ll be fine. The only reason I got upset is because I didn’t want him to repeat old mistakes. I thought he was. I certainly didn’t expect this to be the explanation. Honestly, it sounded like the lamest excuse he’s ever given me.”

“I wish it was an excuse.”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Well, now, at least I know. Oikawa’s being optimistic when he says you two will switch back tonight. If you don’t, you’ve got me to help you out tomorrow.”

Akaashi hums his agreement. He and Oikawa had been so worried about not being believed and found out that he’d never considered how helpful it could be to have another ally—besides Oikawa—who could help him out. He can’t help but feel their arrangement is uneven now. Akaashi has Iwaizumi. Oikawa has…no one. Maybe Akaashi should convince Oikawa to tell someone on the team.

There’s only one person he can think of that would take it in stride, but thinking of him causes a pang in his heart.

Iwaizumi holds out a hand to help Akaashi up.

“So many things make sense now,” Iwaizumi murmurs. His eyes are glazed over, as if lost in thought. “You didn’t call me Iwa-chan straight away. That was the first giveaway. You kept setting to Kunimi even though Oikawa purposely doesn’t. Strike two. And you didn’t touch your milk bread at lunch.”

Oh. Akaashi hasn’t realized all of his little mistakes throughout the day, and now that Iwaizumi is pointing them out, he feels like he’s sinking beneath the floor. It sounds like he’s been painfully obvious. “So you knew I was someone pretending to be Oikawa-san?” he asks in a deadpan voice.

Iwaizumi hands Akaashi his duffel. “No, obviously not. I thought Oikawa was upset. Having an off day.”

“He probably is upset. He just hasn’t had the time to process it in enemy territory.”

“You’re probably right. But not eating the milk bread?” He shakes his head. “You might as well have been an alien.”

Akaashi frowns. “It’s too sweet for me.”

Iwaizumi laughs.

* * *

When Oikawa blinks bleary eyes up at the ceiling at the sound of the alarm the next morning, he knows that they haven’t switched back. With a long sigh and sluggish movements, he makes Akaashi’s bed and puts on a Fukurodani tracksuit that matches his Seijoh one. He knows he’s putting less effort than he usually would into his routine, but his mood has been in the gutter since the sun slithered in through the crack in the curtains.

He can’t imagine why he’d thought they’d switch back overnight. It was probably wishful thinking with a hefty dose of optimism. It means he has to do everything again: the medium sets, the careful notetaking, the wary tiptoeing around the rest of the team.

The only difference between today and yesterday is that he knows what to expect from today. There’s a pattern to follow. He has to fly under the radar and steer clear of Bokuto, who sent Akaashi a few text messages last night that Oikawa gave quick responses to.

And there’s Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi, who now knows that he and Akaashi have switched bodies. Iwaizumi, who is now aware that he is two hours away in Tokyo. Iwaizumi, who believed him despite the ridiculousness of the situation.

Oikawa would never admit it to his face, but he’s never wanted to hug Iwaizumi more than he did last night. He has his back even through all the strangeness and weirdness. Oikawa has never appreciated him more.

Oikawa had called Akaashi again late last night, listened to the other’s updates throughout the day, and regaled his own adventures. The only piece of the conversation that puts him on edge are Akaashi’s questions about Bokuto. Oikawa breezes past them to the best of his ability with false assurances that Bokuto doesn’t suspect a thing. He doubts Akaashi is fully convinced, but both of them are too exhausted to put up much of a fight about it.

Even now, as he enters Fukurodani Academy’s gymnasium, that exhaustion still lingers. It’s a muted weariness that comes with putting on an act for too long, and it makes Oikawa want to turn to the things that make sense. The things that are familiar. And nothing is more familiar to him than volleyball.

Oikawa hadn’t practiced his jump serves yesterday, and he’s been perfecting them for the qualifiers. There’s no one around to tell him that he isn’t acting like Akaashi, moving like Akaashi, speaking like Akaashi. Here, it’s him, the ball, and the net.

He drags the basket of volleyballs over to the edge of the court and plucks out the first one. Sucking in a deep breath, he bounces the ball on the ground a few times and spins it in his grasp. The rubber clings to his fingertips, and as his gaze sweeps across the court, he decides where he’s aiming: the far left corner.

Akaashi is not much shorter than he is. He may not be as strong as Oikawais, but it’s still nice to practice technique. Once he’s back in his own body— _when_ he’s back in his own body—he’ll brush up on the rest.

Oikawa tosses the ball into the air, using the height of the ball to adjust his run up, and he leaps as it starts to swing downward. His jump isn’t as high as it normally would be, but it isn’t impossible to readjust. When the ball hits his hand, the contact is almost as satisfying as the sight of it landing in the far left corner—just as he’d wanted it to.

“Nice,” he murmurs once he’s steady on his feet. This is likely the most difficult part of the sport to complete in Akaashi’s body, yet it’s the only thing right now that works in channeling his frustration. He wants to do it again. Until he can stop thinking and breathe.

Oikawa does the serve several more times. He aims for different spots on the court each time, and there are instances in which he messes up the tosses and hits the net instead. But the simple act of slamming his hand against the ball is doing wonders for his pent-up anger, so he keeps doing it.

He’s on his twenty-first serve when the squeak of someone’s sneaker startles him into messing up the run, and his knees buckle. He never actually makes it into the air, and the ball hits the ground in front of him in an anticlimactic bounce.

Bokuto stands a few feet away, watching him with a steady look that has never failed to unnerve Oikawa. “Wow, Akaashi,” he says once Oikawa has turned around. “I didn’t know you could jump serve. Since when?”

Fear races down his spine. Oikawa bends down to pick up the ball and return it back into the basket as he buys himself time. “Just recently,” he says. “I’m not that good at it yet, so I haven’t done it much outside of my own time.”

“Really? It looks really good! You have to use it in a real game soon. It’ll be great if we have another strong server for qualifiers.”

Oikawa grits his teeth. Now he’s stuck Akaashi into an unfortunate position. He wonders how feasible it would be to learn how to jump serve in a day—and whether Akaashi can manage it. “Mmm, maybe, Bokuto-san.”

“Hey, since you’re here, can you set for me?” Bokuto drops his backpack onto the floor and joins him on the court. “I want to practice a bit before morning practice.”

Oikawa thinks that Bokuto has used the word “practice” too many times in that last sentence, and he’s tempted to go on about the benefits of pacing yourself and not overworking. But Bokuto—despite his constant enthusiasm for self-improvement—actually seems to understand a healthy balance. He understands his own body, and he doesn’t seem like the type to go beyond what he can handle.

But he’s terrified of setting for Bokuto. After yesterday, when Bokuto came up to him to complain about how his sets were different, Oikawa isn’t keen on a repeat. No one else on the team has called him out except for the ace. It’s only a matter of time before Bokuto catches on to him.

“In a sec,” Oikawa says in an attempt to put the inevitable off. “Let me just practice my serve a few more times, and then I’ll do it.”

Bokuto pouts, his lips turning downward. “ _Akaashi_ ,” he whines, and all Oikawa can think is: _oh, is this how I sound like when Iwa-chan tells me to stop whining like a child?_ “Please? You said you weren’t mad at me!”

“I’m not, Bokuto-san. I just don’t feel like setting right now.”

“But you always set for me!” Bokuto cries out. “You’ve been acting weird, ’Kaashi. Your sets are completely different, and you keep brushing me off, and even though you say I haven’t done anything, you keep running away from me.”

“I—what?” His face starts to warm, and those prickly nerves are building back up in his stomach. Every muscle in his body wants to run—to escape from this conversation as quickly as possible. He’s leaning off a precipice, and Bokuto is far too close to the truth for Oikawa to be able to stomach. “Bokuto-san—”

Bokuto fists his hands into his hair. “It’s like you’re not even Akaashi!”

Oikawa will look back on this moment later. He’ll think about the fact that this statement is still too off the mark to be anything close to the correct conclusion, and that even though Bokuto thinks his actions are unusual, he’s not suggesting that he’s someone else pretending to be Akaashi. But in that exact second with alarm bells ringing in his ears, Oikawa can’t bring himself to talk himself out of this. Instead, he blurts out, _“How did you know?”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of the birthday messages last chapter! i really appreciate it!

All things considered, Bokuto takes the news well. Extremely well. It’s like part of him had guessed the truth beforehand, and Oikawa’s revelation only confirms what he’d already known. He doesn’t ask for any proof or doubts him for a second. It’s the most unsettling thing he’s done since he’s swapped bodies with Akaashi.

Oikawa doesn’t get the chance to tell him more than the general information before the rest of their team starts filtering into the gymnasium, but that doesn’t stop Bokuto from tracking him down at lunch. This time, Oikawa doesn’t feel the urge to sprint in the other direction.

The two of them take their bento boxes outside to sit at one of the benches together, and Oikawa goes through the carefully prepared lunch that Akaashi’s mother left for him that morning. Believe it or not, Bokuto is a great listener. If you speak, he gives you his full attention—and maybe that’s just because Oikawa is wearing Akaashi's face, but it’s appreciated.

Rather than seeing their body swap as the end of the world, Bokuto sees it as an opportunity to discuss theories and solutions. He lets Oikawa jokingly suggest that aliens are behind it—and okay, maybe he’s not joking completely—and he has enough knowledge of pop culture of his own to bounce off of Oikawa’s references to films and television shows in which the two main characters switch lives. He doesn’t shut him down the way Iwaizumi would’ve or address the situation with cool logic the way Akaashi would’ve. Bokuto has an open mind about the entire situation, and it makes Oikawa’s own worries fade away.

“Yeah, that was a good film,” Bokuto says as he finishes the last of his bento. “In that, they swapped bodies again because they found their way across the world and managed to touch each other. The skin to skin contact was the key.”

Oikawa nods vigorously. “Exactly.” He purses his lips. “Maybe Akaashi-kun and I have to touch to switch back. But I don’t think we touched during the practice match. Did we shake hands?”

“I don't remember. But hey! At least now I can help you out! You said Iwaizumi is helping Akaashi, and now, I get to help you! I can tell you how to fix your sets for afternoon practice.”

“Yeah, about that.” Oikawa’s eyes narrow as he tosses his chopsticks aside. “What is it about my sets that are so awful? You seem to have a problem with them.”

Bokuto’s cheerful expression falls, and he waves his hands in front of Oikawa. “It’s not that! Your sets are fine. Great, even. They’re just not what I’m used to.”

“You mean they’re not Akaashi’s.”

Bokuto lets that declaration sit in the air for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he says with a touch of wistfulness. It’s almost as if they’ve been separated for months, not days. “Akaashi’s sets are the best.”

“What does he do differently?”

“I don’t know. They just feel different. I can’t explain it.”

Oikawa looks out at the rest of the students who have wandered outside to enjoy the warm sunshine and fresh breeze. Behind them, Fukurodani Academy looms over, the structure well-updated and intimidating, even if he’s spent the last two days within its walls. It’ll never bring him the same comfort as Aoba Johsai does. Without Mattsun and Makki’s teasing and Iwaizumi’s steadfastness, Fukurodani will never feel comfortable to him. It’s moments like these that make him overjoyed that he didn’t wind up at Shiratorizawa.

No one else has neared them, and for that, he’s glad. This is the kind of conversation he doesn’t want anyone overhearing. Bokuto suggested telling the rest of the team who he really is, but that doesn’t sit well with him. Bokuto might’ve taken it in stride, but he’s not sure the rest of Fukurodani would see the humor in having a rival setter interfering in their practices.

“So,” Bokuto says, “what are we going to do then?”

“What can we do?” Oikawa rests his chin in the palm of his hand. He hasn’t heard from Akaashi, and he hasn’t heard from Iwaizumi. Neither of them know about Bokuto discovering their secret too. For all he knows, Akaashi has been exposed as an outsider. “We were going to wait it out.”

“But that’s not how it works!” His brows furrow. “Qualifiers are coming up, and although you’re a great setter, we need Akaashi. And Aoba Johsai needs you! We can’t just sit around and wait for you two to switch back! Especially when we’re not even sure why you switched places at all.” Bokuto straightens and grips Oikawa's shoulder, almost knocking Oikawa off the bench with his unintentional force. “We should go to Miyagi this weekend! Maybe that will trigger something!”

While Oikawa is grateful for Bokuto’s enthusiasm—after all, he’s enough doom and gloom for the both of them—he’s certain his faith that something will happen in Miyagi is misplaced. “I’m not sure, Bokkun.” His arm falls back to his side. “Don’t we have practice this weekend?”

“Nope! We’ve been having less practices over the weekends because we’re spending most of them at training camp with other schools.” Bokuto clamps his mouth shut after that, and Oikawa wonders what is left unsaid. “This weekend is pretty free.”

“Well, Seijoh has practice. We’d have to work around that.”

“That’s okay!”

“And we’d have to book train tickets. And take the train to Miyagi.”

“That’s easy.” Bokuto waves his concerns off. “There’s no reason we can’t make it there. It’s better than sitting around waiting for something to happen. You need to be in Miyagi, and Akaashi needs to be here in Tokyo. If we do this, then we can at least say that we tried!”

Bokuto has a point even if Oikawa isn’t ready to admit it. It’s only been two days, yet the restlessness that creeps beneath his skin is setting his nerves aflame. Every waking thought he has is either about how the team is faring without him or how he’s meant to survive another day without switching back. Since they hadn’t switched back yesterday, he hasn’t let himself consider that this will resolve itself in the near future. But Bokuto’s optimism makes him want to believe that this can be fixed.

If he’s being honest with himself, he misses Miyagi already. A temporary trip might make it easier to endure this in the long run. He’s had enough of him and Akaashi playing phone tag. If they show up in person, the four of them can all consider the situation and its possible outcomes and solutions at the same time. It would feel less lonely than wading through each day without a goal in sight.

“Have you ever taken the train to Miyagi?” Oikawa asks instead of admitting that he’s on board.

“Um, no,” Bokuto admits. “But it’s probably not that hard to figure out. Ugh, if Akaashi were here, he could figure it out in an instant.”

“He’s not dead, Bokkun. You can text him.”

Bokuto beams at that suggestion. “You’re right.” He takes out his phone, and his fingers fly across the keyboard as he composes a text message. “I’ll do that.”

“He doesn’t know that you know,” Oikawa reminds him because he does feel like they need to approach this conversation with some tact. Having the information thrown in your face that your best friend realizes you’ve switched bodies over the phone is not ideal. “Just text him using Akaashi’s own phone.”

If there’s such a thing as being in too deep, Oikawa’s several feet below ground. 

* * *

“Well, well, well,” Hanamaki says, his gaze fixed toward the entrance of the gymnasium. “Look who’s here.”

Akaashi stops in the middle of gulping down water to glance over at the entrance. The figure standing between the wide doors makes him falter, and he swipes a hand over his mouth to get rid of the remaining droplets of water. If there’s anyone who has the description of an “angry-looking face,” it’s the person waiting a few feet away. Akaashi had hoped he would be lucky to never cross paths with the troublesome player Oikawa had warned him about. Unfortunately, he hasn’t had much luck to begin with lately, and whatever remnants he’s had have run out. 

“So you’ve finally showed up,” the second-year by the name of Yahaba calls out. The statement causes the newcomer to wrinkle his nose before tossing his duffel aside. 

Akaashi strides over to Iwaizumi who’s caught sight of the player and is marching towards him. “What’s his name?” he asks under his breath. He’s so glad he can ask forward questions like this now instead of trying to put the pieces together himself. Having Iwaizumi in on the situation has made his experience much easier.

“We call him Mad Dog,” Iwaizumi answers in the few steps they have before reaching the entrance. “Actually, you should call him Mad Dog-chan.” Akaashi scrunches his face at that. “His real name is Kyoutani though. All you have to do right now is greet him. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Once they’re in front of the player called Kyoutani—or Mad Dog, Akaashi corrects in his head—Akaashi gives him a pleasant smile. “Hello, Mad Dog-chan,” he greets. The casual nicknames Oikawa gives people will never feel natural to him. “Long time, no see. I trust you’ve been keeping up with practice on your own time if you haven’t shown up here.”

Kyoutani scoffs, deigning not to give him a further response than that. 

Iwaizumi takes another step forward. “If you actually want to be in the starting line up for qualifiers, you have to start showing up consistently. Stop half-assing your participation on this team. Otherwise, you’ll be on the bench. Is that clear?”

To Akaashi’s complete surprise, that condescending look directed towards Oikawa vanishes when Iwaizumi’s attention is on him. It’s replaced with a blank expression as he says, “Yes.”

That’s the end of that until they start doing setting drills. These are the kinds of drills that set Akaashi on edge more than anything else. If they’re doing a practice match, he can fade into the background before the spotlight falls on him. But in situations where the practice is completely dependent on the setter’s ability to sync up to their spikers, his personal quality shines through, and it becomes apparent that he hasn’t adjusted to the patterns of Seijoh’s attackers. 

When the set is too low for Kyoutani to do anything but slam the ball into the net, Akaashi knows that the glare sent his way is deserved. He’s messed up on every single time he’s meant to set for Kyoutani. Of course, it’s not intentional—although he’s sure Kyoutani would disagree. But Kyoutani is a forceful player that often takes quite a run before the leap, and Akaashi is thrown off by his power with each attempt.

“Come _on,_ ” Kyoutani mutters, a little too loudly.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “Lay off him.”

Akaashi’s shoulders sag especially as he notices the rest of the team averting their eyes. The only ones who dare to meet him head-on are Matsukawa and Hanamaki who merely hide their chuckles behind their hands. He’s starting to look pathetic. How many times can he mess up before Oikawa gets benched?

Iwaizumi jerks his thumb towards the back of the line, and it never ceases to amaze him that Kyoutani follows the order without a complaint. He’s certain that if he tried to do the same—even in Oikawa’s body—he’d get shut down.

Iwaizumi steps up to the front next. The invisible force of pressure pushing down on his shoulders strengthens, and Akaashi takes in a deep breath as he holds the ball out in front of him to spike. He can brush off the mistakes with him and Kyoutani as a lack of practice with the other spiker, but if he continuously messes up with Iwaizumi, others will start to pick up on it. He knows that the pair have a near psychic connection on the court. Iwaizumi understands Oikawa’s movements as well as Oikawa understands Iwaizumi’s. For the two of them to fumble an attack would be a catastrophe akin to a meteor striking the earth’s surface.

Akaashi spikes the ball, watches as Iwaizumi sends it towards him in a near perfect receive, and sets it up as Oikawa has instructed him too: not too far from the net, a nice medium height. Unfortunately, the angle at which he’s sent it forces Iwaizumi to adjust his run, and the resounding spike against the court on the other side of the net isn’t as powerful as it should be. 

Even Iwaizumi’s pleased smile does little to ease his own self-doubt. 

* * *

Iwaizumi approaches him at the tail end of practice after the net has been taken down and the rest of their teammates have taken their leave. Akaashi finishes zipping up his sweatshirt before hoisting the duffel over his shoulder. Iwaizumi hovers nearby, waiting expectantly, and Akaashi follows him wordlessly out of the gymnasium.

The night sky is clear, dotted with spatters of stars that appear so much brighter than they do in Tokyo. It’s the right temperature to walk home in, cool enough that the heat isn’t unbearable and warm enough that a sweatshirt suffices. There’s a lone car every now and then that rushes along the street beside them, but the walk is spent in silence for the most part. 

That is—until Iwaizumi pierces it.

“What’s up with you?” he asks. There’s a note of hesitation in his voice, as if he realizes this isn’t his best friend since childhood he’s speaking to. The person walking beside him is a virtual stranger. “You seem quiet.”

“You mean more so than usual?”

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh. “That never feels normal, you know,” he remarks. “Your mannerisms in his voice. Even when you’re trying to act like him, there’s something off about it.”

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on pursuing a career in acting then.” 

Akaashi hopes that will be the end of it, but as he’s discovered over the past day or so, Iwaizumi isn’t the kind of person that lets things go. He’s not content to let conversations go unspoken. He’s blunt, wanting everything to be out in the open. His sense of candor reminds Akaashi of Bokuto, but thinking about Bokuto makes his heart feel heavy, so he tries not to. 

But then, his mind turns back to their practice, and it’s like a film reel, replaying every imperfect set, every delay in his actions, every instance in which he falls flat. Oikawa Tooru is the kind of player that comes along once a lifetime, much like Bokuto. On the other hand, Akaashi is the kind of player that comes along multiple times and fails to ever make a mark. 

“Really, we can talk about it,” Iwaizumi insists. “I know we don’t really know each other that well, but I’m not keen on letting you suffer in silence.”

“It’s—” He wants to say nothing, but his mouth won’t form the word.

Instead, Akaashi asks, “What is it like? Playing with Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi fails to hide his surprise at that. His eyebrows flick upwards. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi tries to hold back his frustration. “What kind of player is he to you?”

Iwaizumi hums. The pair make it another block before Iwaizumi decides on his answer, and the light from one of the corner shops shines across his profile when he speaks. “He’s…okay, don’t go blabbing to him that I told you this. When I tell him, I want it to mean something. He’s…incredible. He’s an amazing setter. He’s the best partner I’ll ever have. No one is ever going to be able to match me the way he does. Sometimes when he used to push himself too hard, I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say, ‘What the hell are you doing? Do you not realize the world is waiting for you? But if you break yourself before you get there, you’ll never be able to see that for yourself.’” Iwaizumi scowls, as if he finds it impossible to give Oikawa too many compliments before his urge to balance out the scale kicks in. “He’s an idiot. That’s a fact. But I also feel incredibly lucky to have played with him all these years. I’m glad I followed him into volleyball. And it devastates me to think about the fact that the end is in sight now.”

Iwaizumi’s words—despite having flowed out of him in a rush—sound like they’ve been waiting to be said a long time. His answer is illustrative, and Akaashi understands their intense bond a little more than he did before. 

“Why do you ask?” Iwaizumi asks, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Akaashi lets out a long sigh. “To confirm what I already knew,” he says. “Oikawa-san is a special player. Like you said, he’ll go far. He’s the kind of player that you look at and think of as extraordinary.” He glances up at an overhead streetlight and squints against the brightness. “I’ve never felt like that. I’ve always felt kind of ordinary in terms of my position. I can’t bring out my teammates’ abilities. I can’t form an attack all on my own. That’s why pretending to be Oikawa-san is so hard for me.”

Akaashi doesn’t notice that Iwaizumi has stopped walking until he reaches the curb. He looks back over his shoulder to find Iwaizumi watching him, his eyes searching. “I never realized a Nationals-level setter could consider himself ‘ordinary.’”

Akaashi opens his mouth to speak, but Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“I don’t think anyone on your team would consider you ordinary. I think the entirety of Fukurodani Academy thinks you’re special. In fact, I think your teammates would be shocked and outraged to hear you talk about yourself like that.”

“Well, I—”

“Have you ever talked to them about it?”

“No, but—”

“You should,” Iwaizumi urges, moving to stand at Akaashi’s shoulder. “I don’t think any of your teammates—especially that ace of yours—would trade you for anyone else in the world. The same way I wouldn’t trade Oikawa’s dumb ass.” 

Akaashi has nothing to say in response to that. Any words he might’ve grasped at fade away on his tongue, and all he can do is stare at Iwaizumi, gaping. 

Iwaizumi nudges him with his elbow. “You’re a great setter, Akaashi. Fukurodani is lucky to have you.”

The last sentence makes a smile blossom. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still have goosebumps from today's episode. i have waited so long to see hinata's receive, and they did it so much justice.

Thanks to Akaashi’s detailed itinerary sent to his phone along with a brusque “I can’t believe you told Bokuto-san” message attached to it, Oikawa and Bokuto have some semblance of how to make it to Miyagi. The Tohoku Shinkansen will take them most of the way in a journey that lasts about an hour and a half, and then the pair will take another train closer to where Oikawa and Iwaizumi live. That part is the easy bit. Oikawa may not be that familiar with Tokyo, but he knows how to get around his own prefecture.

The two of them book tickets for the Friday afternoon after classes. Oikawa again wants to thank Akaashi for his detailed organizational skills as the other setter has marked where they need to go practically down to each footstep. Since Bokuto keeps looking around at everything, every small detail capturing his attention, Oikawa is mostly the one to keep them on track.

Once they’re plopped down in their plush seats on the right train, Oikawa feels it’s an appropriate time to catch his breath. Bokuto begs him for the window seat, and Oikawa lets him, watching Bokuto peer at the passing scenery and taking multiple photos on his phone. Meanwhile, Oikawa rewatches the highlights of some of his all-time favorite volleyball matches on Akaashi’s phone to pass the time. He only gets up once when Bokuto tries to climb over him to use the bathroom.

Both Akaashi and Iwaizumi know they’re coming. Even if they’d disagreed with their decision, neither of them were willing to shut down Bokuto’s enthusiasm, and Oikawa thinks that even they’re starting to get desperate. They’ve switched lives for several days now, and nothing has changed. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, he hopes that all he and Akaashi have to do is press their palms together, and then their problem is solved.

Iwaizumi let him know that they’ll meet the other two after the second train. Oikawa has already made Iwaizumi promise to pay for his ramen, which Iwaizumi agreed to a little too easily. He doesn’t know if Iwaizumi is intentionally going easy on him because he’s missed him—or maybe he thinks that Oikawa’s had a stressful enough week, and he’s lessening the strain this way.

Whatever the reason, neither Akaashi nor Iwaizumi complained about their visit. It’ll be a good opportunity to discuss theories and solutions if the skin to skin contact doesn’t work. And—if this turns out to be a long-term problem—it’ll give them the chance to discuss how they’ll handle this moving forward. Oikawa scowls at the thought. Even the idea of this lasting another week makes him want to throw himself off this train. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s missed at practice or which classes he’ll fall behind in. He wants things to return to normal.

“I’m back,” Bokuto announces, standing on Oikawa’s left. “Should I climb over?”

“No, I’ll get up,” Oikawa says quickly, his mind flashing back to the incident ten minutes earlier when Bokuto had practically fallen into his lap. He stands and gestures to the other seat. “Here.”

“Thanks, Oikawa!” Bokuto settles down again, and Oikawa joins him.

Watching the ace, Oikawa again wonders what kind of relationship he and Akaashi must have if they’d be willing to go this far for each other. Clearly, the two are close. He doesn’t consider their relationship as being in the same vein as his and Iwaizumi’s, but—the intensity might be the same. It’s fascinating. Akaashi has always seemed somewhat uptight and conventional, yet it seems like his partnership with Bokuto breaks all of those rules.

Oikawa looks down at his lap as a text message from Iwazumi comes in. _Are you almost here?_

Oikawa types out his reply. _Not quite._

* * *

After another train ride to follow the first, the two of them step foot in familiar territory. Oikawa has been to this station several times, and there’s something about the freshness in the air that makes Tokyo seem like a fever dream. He doesn’t know how he’s spent the last few days being rushed headfirst into the bustling city. Every bone in his body screams that he’s from Miyagi.

The station and the clear sky are only two of the familiar things Oikawa notices upon their arrival. The other thing is sat on a bench, clearly waiting for them, swinging his legs back and forth while he fumbles with his phone.

Oikawa surges forward—only to freeze in place at the figure seated on the bench beside him. Even after everything that’s happened, knowing that Akaashi is in his body and seeing it in person are two different things. The former can be dismissed, but the latter is unnerving. It’s almost like he’s watching an old video that someone has recorded of him. However, instead of merely watching the video and watching how he looks from an outsider’s perspective, he’s experiencing it.

Oikawa isn’t sure how neither of them hear the scrape of his sneaker against the concrete. But neither of them miss the loud shout of “ _Akaashi_!” before Bokuto barrels towards them.

Akaashi has enough time to rise to his feet before Bokuto envelops him in a tight embrace. Akaashi’s expression is the perfect picture of shock (and again, Oikawa feels uncomfortable watching someone else control his features). It would appear that Akaashi isn’t one to initiate physical contact normally, even if Bokuto is.

“Hi, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs, patting Bokuto’s back. “It’s good to see you.”

Bokuto pulls back long enough to catch a glimpse at Akaashi’s face. “It’s good to see you too,” he says brightly. “Wow, this _is_ weird. You talk like Akaashi, and you act like Akaashi, except that you’re not…quite…right.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Iwaizumi says, finally speaking up. He slides a look over to Oikawa, who’s still standing half-frozen a few feet away. “Seriously, Oikawa? You made all this fuss about missing me, and now you’re just going to stand there?”

That makes Oikawa straighten. He can’t help the fond smile that forms on his lips. He shuffles over to Iwaizumi who has dressed up for the occasion in the only way he knows how: camouflage pants and a black sweatshirt. He drops his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder, giving him a sideways hug. “Iwa-chan,” he murmurs.

Although Iwaizumi is scowling, he makes no effort to push Oikawa off. He either is trying to relieve Oikawa’s stress or maybe— _maybe—_ he actually did miss him.

Akaashi and Bokuto are still in their own little world, though now Bokuto is showing off the series of photographs he took on their journey as Akaashi hums in acknowledgement for each one. Once he’s finished, he gives Akaashi another hug that still manages to surprise the setter.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says.

“Let me have this, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, his grip tightening. “I missed you.”

Akaashi sighs. In Oikawa’s body, the two of them are closer to being the exact same height. The little huff of breath fans Bokuto’s face. He directs his attention over to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “Now what?”

“First things first,” Oikawa says, releasing Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan said he’d pay for my ramen.”

“Ooh, ramen!” Bokuto’s gaze lights up with fresh hunger. Oikawa doesn’t blame him. The train ride took a lot out of them even if they had stuffed themselves off vending machine snacks beforehand. “I could go for that.”

“Do you know a place?” Akaashi asks.

“Chindochu,” Iwaizumi and Oikawa say at the same time.

* * *

Chindochu is a Chinese ramen & gyoza place that both Oikawa and Iwaizumi appear to be well-acquainted with. It’s a fairly busy establishment, but not so much that they can’t carve out a table for themselves in the corner, far from prying ears and eyes. Oikawa and Bokuto rush through their dishes, the afternoon travel having nurtured their hunger more, and no one speaks until everyone finishes their meal. With the amount of people that wander in and out, Akaashi is mildly surprised that no one from Aoba Johsai stumbles upon them, but luck might be shining down on them again.

Bokuto’s leg presses against his as he reaches for a napkin from the center of the table. He and Bokuto took one side of the table while Iwaizumi and Oikawa took the other. Oikawa doesn’t seem keen on letting Iwaizumi drift more than a few centimeters away in any case. Even while he’s eating, he keeps pressing his arm into Iwaizumi as if to reassure himself of his presence.

But the most unsettling thing by far is having to watch himself as Oikawa eats and huffs over his dish. It was shocking when he first spotted Oikawa hovering at the edges of his vision over Bokuto’s shoulder. He’s never expressed that much emotion in his life, but Oikawa doesn’t shy away from any of that. Every feeling he’s ever had flashes over his profile if you’re staring hard enough. Plus, seeing Oikawa say, _“Iwa-chan”_ and drape himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders makes his stomach turn. (Not because of Oikawa per say. It’s the hallucination in which Akaashi acts anything more than calm and reserved that sets him on edge.)

But Iwaizumi acts like this is all normal. Despite his original freak-out, he has absorbed every aftershock with minimal impact, and when he sets his own napkin down, Akaashi understands that everything is about to be laid out in the open.

“So,” Iwaizumi begins, “we don’t know how this happened—or why. We don’t know how to reverse it either. If anyone wants to offer up any solutions, feel free to do so. Nothing you say is going to be more outrageous than what is happening right now.”

“Did Akaashi and Oikawa already touch hands?” Bokuto asks.

They had. Oikawa had grabbed his hand on the way to the ramen restaurant to test this theory. If it is the solution, there is no instant impact. Perhaps something will occur overnight, but Akaashi isn’t optimistic about that outcome.

“Yes,” Oikawa says. “Nothing happened.” He scowls and slouches over in his seat. Akaashi resists the urge to tell Oikawa to stop ruining his posture. “I went back over every film I recognized that contains a body-swapping element, but I don’t think it was very helpful.”

“Why?”

“Because in most cases, the two people switch back by happenstance. Or the film is reaching their end, and they’ve learned what they’ve needed to learn.”

“It’s more than that!” Bokuto interrupts. He waves his chopsticks in the air to emphasize his point. “If the two people involved have a certain lesson they need to learn by the film’s end, it can only be learned by stepping outside themselves for a while.” At the sea of blank faces, he clarifies, “Something that can only be learned by stepping into someone else’s shoes.”

“So, like, something they have to confront?” Iwaizumi’s brows are furrowed.

“I guess so!” Bokuto touches his chin as he mulls that question over. “Sometimes, I think it comes down to them confronting their way of thinking. Or maybe they have something they need to say or do, and it’s easier for them to do so in someone else’s body.” He shrugs at that. “What tends to be crucial is that switching bodies pushes people into doing things they never do otherwise nothing would change for them. The lesson can’t be something they can learn on their own. The body-swap has to be essential in some way.” He pauses. “Or there’s been some kind of accident. That also happens sometimes in these films. Two people get hurt at the same time, and then they switch.” Bokuto twists in his seat to face Akaashi. “Hey, Akaashi! Oikawa hit you in the face with his spike! Do you think that might be why you two switched?”

Akaashi very much hopes that isn’t the reason. He isn’t thrilled at the prospect of standing still as Oikawa aims for his nose. The pain felt by that once is more than enough. Unless he gets to return the favor and hit Oikawa in the face. But that would mean hitting his own face, and he still doesn’t really want to do that.

He’s still thinking about what Bokuto started his explanation with. The two people switch to learn something in someone else’s shoes. It can’t be something that would happen without a swap, otherwise the element of the swap would be useless. That means Akaashi has something he needs to say—or do.

When Akaashi lifts his head, he meets Iwaizumi’s stare. That simple moment of eye contact sends a shiver down his spine. He knows what Iwaizumi is thinking. He believes that Akaashi needs to discuss his own worries about his importance as a player with his team—or at least, with Bokuto. That can be considered an important lesson.

But it feels too trivial. There’s nothing imperative about his own insecurities that would require a trade with Aoba Johsai’s captain. Unless…Oikawa has something of his own that he needs to come to terms with.

Akaashi looks over at Bokuto who is in the middle of rehashing one of the films with Oikawa. According to Oikawa, Bokuto has suspected that Akaashi hasn’t been the same since the beginning. If there has to be a reason for the switch, then…

“You must have something to do too,” Iwaizumi says, patting Oikawa’s shoulder. “Do you have any idea what it is?”

Akaashi may just be guessing on his special task, but he knows instantly that Oikawa knows for certain what he has to do. His shoulder slump almost imperceptibly, even if his beam remains as bright as ever.

“Don’t worry about me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “I have a clue.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Akaashi feels the need to bring the group down to reality for a bit. “What if we figure out what we need to, and we’re stuck like this?”

Iwaizumi taps his fingers against the table. “Then we start discussing what to do about volleyball from now on.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, no. I’m not even letting myself think about the idea of this _not_ working. It has to.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa coos. He taps Iwaizumi’s cheek with his pointer finger. “You miss me that much, huh?”

Iwaizumi meets Akaashi’s gaze. In a deadpan voice, he says, “If this doesn’t work, you get to spike Oikawa in the face.”

Bokuto bursts into laughter, nearly knocking a hand into his glass. Akaashi blinks. And Oikawa cries out in indignation, _“Iwa-chan!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on twitter @akaashikejis ! come say hi


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i am built upon the small things i do every day, and the end results are no more than a byproduct of that," i say as i tap away at my keyboard at an excruciating slow pace and hand you this unedited chapter on a plate

Oikawa has been in Iwaizumi’s room countless times. He’s spent more time in Iwaizumi’s house than his own over the course of his lifetime, whether it’s through pestering Iwaizumi while he completes his homework or inviting himself over for family dinners or spending the night even though he’d planned on heading home earlier in the evening. He’s even been in his bedroom without Iwaizumi there to watch, though it doesn’t happen often. He doesn’t know what Iwaizumi thinks he’ll do unsupervised, but that morning, Iwaizumi has no other choice but to leave Bokuto and Oikawa there while he and Akaashi head off to morning practice.

While they could stay in Oikawa’s bedroom, it’s understandable that they try to avoid Oikawa’s parents at all costs. Therefore, Iwaizumi was forced to drag in the guest futon so that he and Bokuto can sleep on his floor. That lasted about an hour before Oikawa crawled in beneath Iwaizumi’s covers, and even though Iwaizumi had kicked him a few times in the shins, he’d eventually given in.

Now, as they wait for the other half of this quartet to return from practice, he and Bokuto are stuck here. They could sneak out, but there honestly isn’t much to do other than wait. They could grab a volleyball and head out to the backyard, but he doesn’t want any of their neighbors to spot them.

Bokuto doesn’t particularly seem to mind. He’s lying down on the futon, the covers strewn haphazardly over his form, and he keeps setting one of Iwaizumi’s spare volleyballs up over his head. He’s been doing this for the past hour or so, and even when the ball veers too far to the side and lands on the floor, he picks it up and starts over.

Meanwhile, Oikawa has Iwaizumi’s covers wrapped around his shoulders as he sits at Iwaizumi’s desk. The computer screen in front of him is bright as it plays the ending to one of the many body swap films that Bokuto had mentioned when they’d written out a list of all the ones they could remember. Oikawa is in the middle of creating a new list, one that specifically mentions the catalysts for each switch back at the end.

But he can already recognize a pattern from the ones he’s already gone through. Every switch back into their original bodies occurs because the characters either meet an important revelation, admit to something, or do an activity they would otherwise be unable to complete. There are a few outliers—including the one instance in which two people switch because they both are involved in the same car accident. Oikawa doesn’t think the matching injury situation applies to their case.

“Oikawa?”

“Yes?” Oikawa clicks off the film and brings another to the forefront. He’s moving through the list at a faster rate than expected.

“You said yesterday that you have some clue about your big revelation,” Bokuto says. “Do you actually, or were you just saying that?”

Oikawa clicks his fingernails against the desk as he props his chin into his hand. “I do have a clue.”

While he hates to admit it, the most imperative thing on his mind is that he needs to tell Iwaizumi that he’s going to Argentina. He’s never kept secrets from his best friend before. Actually, he really sucks at it. Usually, Iwaizumi knows when he’s holding back, and Oikawa believes that if this whole mishap hadn’t occurred, Iwaizumi would’ve called him out on his silence by now. As it stands, the two have had a lot on their plates lately, and Oikawa has let himself push this conversation to the side long enough.

Iwaizumi’s opinion matters to him. Enough that if Iwaizumi were to tell him to stay in Japan… Well, he doesn’t want to think that far. He hopes Iwaizumi would always want the best for him, and right now, Oikawa is convinced that the next chapter in his life lies beyond.

But that conversation also entails discussing a deeper fear. What if he can’t? What if he fails? What if he struggles to maintain his composure? It’s already hard enough graduating, much less leaving his home country to enter a new one. He doesn’t even speak Spanish.

“Bokkun?” Oikawa tries.

“Yeah?” The sound of the ball hitting the tips of Bokuto’s fingers ceases.

Oikawa sees this as his trial run. This is how he practices how he’ll tell Iwaizumi. “I’m going to Argentina.”

He hears Bokuto shift on the futon behind him. “When? Now?”

Oikawa drops his arm and whips his head around. Bokuto stares up at him, wide-eyed. His gaze holds no judgment. It’s full of curiosity instead.

“No, not now,” Oikawa says. “After I graduate. I have someone I want to learn from there. I’ve already spoken to him, and…I think it’ll be good for me. It’ll give me perspective. Give me the chance to grow somewhere I haven’t laid my roots yet, you know?”

Bokuto braces himself on his elbows, nodding. “That makes sense! That sounds really cool. Argentina, huh? Have you ever been?”

Oikawa bites on the inside of his mouth. “No.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“No.”

“Oh. That’s… You should probably start learning.”

Oikawa scowls. Obviously, Bokuto has a point, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “I know that. I will.”

Bokuto waits until Oikawa has returned his attention to the computer before speaking again. “So is this your big revelation? Do you have to decide?”

“No, I’ve already decided. I think the big thing I have to do is tell Iwa-chan.”

Bokuto sits on his knees so quickly that the futon squeezes beneath him. “You mean you haven’t told Iwaizumi yet? You told me something before you told your best friend?”

For the first time since beginning this conversation, Oikawa starts to regret it. “No, I haven’t told him. And _don’t_ tell him I told you first. I wanted to see how someone would react to the news. It’s a big deal—telling Iwa-chan.”

Bokuto’s voice is a great deal quieter the next time he speaks. “Is that because you think he’ll tell you to not go?”

“No. I mean…I don’t know. I just…his opinion means a lot to me.” Oikawa points over his shoulder. “Don’t tell him I said that either! I’ve already decided that I’m going, but I know if Iwa-chan says it’s a bad idea, then I’ll also think I’ve made a mistake. I’m already nervous enough as it is.”

“What are you nervous about?”

Right. He’s forgotten who he’s talking to. He’s not sure Bokuto would understand fear if it stared him straight in the eye. The concept of being afraid is foreign to someone who believes he’s invincible. “Everything. Homesickness. Being away from my family. Like you said, I don’t speak Spanish. I could fail.”

“I don’t think anyone who leaves the country they’ve known all their life to try things out in another one can really _fail_ ,” Bokuto says. “And you don’t have to do that much! I mean, all you really have to do is”—he counts off on his fingers—“one, fly to Argentina, two, learn Spanish, three, join a team, and boom! You’ve succeeded.”

Oikawa is astounded at how Bokuto has managed to take his life-changing experience and simplify it into three bullet points. He’s somehow made it sound both simple and easy. He explains things so plainly that it makes the impossible feel more possible.

Oikawa looks over his shoulder at him again to find Bokuto holding up his three fingers. “I mean, I think it’ll be harder than that, but yeah, that’s the gist.” He pauses. “I’ll probably have to admit all of that to Iwa-chan. It won’t be enough to say that I’m leaving.”

Bokuto curls his hand back into a fist. “I’m sure he’ll be supportive,” he says. “I think Iwaizumi would support you in anything. You could tell him that you’ve decided to quit volleyball to open up an owl café in Tokyo, and he’d support you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, he’d probably think that you’re a bit nuts at first. He’d make fun of you for a while. But he’d be supportive, I think. He seems like that kind of person.”

Bokuto doesn’t realize how on the nail he is about Iwaizumi’s strength of character. It makes a warm smile flit across his features. “You’re not wrong about that.”

* * *

The morning practice winds up being strenuous and exhausting, but Akaashi has adjusted more to the rest of the team. Most of his sets make for strong attacks, and even Kyoutani finds little to complain about. His biggest worry was whether he and Iwaizumi would sync up well, and he’s satisfied when the two of them pull off several spikes during a practice match. All the while, his mind is elsewhere, wondering what Oikawa and Bokuto are up to. He’s never thought hard about what the pair talk about when they’re alone, but now that they’re in Miyagi, it’s all he thinks about. Thankfully, his obliviousness doesn’t across in his plays, and he avoids Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s teasing.

“Where are you off to?” Hanamaki asks as they exit the gymnasium. The young members of the team have scattered a while ago, leaving the upperclassmen to put away the net and the volleyballs. It makes sense that they would seize the chance to escape when they could. The weather is stunning today, warm sunshine resting across their shoulders with a slight breeze to offset it. “Want to get something to eat?”

Akaashi wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He actually rather likes them considering he’s only known them for a few days and he’s the kind of person who keeps a tight-knit circle of people around him. But at the moment, all he can think about are the two people stuck in Iwaizumi’s bedroom.

“Nah,” Iwaizumi says. “Thanks, but Oikawa and I have something to do.”

“Do you mean you have to do something Oikawa has bullied you into?” Matsukawa jokes.

Akaashi scoffs. He’s grown accustomed to Oikawa’s small instances of mock offense. The actions almost come automatically now. “I haven’t bullied Iwa-chan into anything. I would never.”

“Mmhmm,” Hanamaki hums. “Sure. Well. We won’t keep you. If you two are too busy to hang out with us, Mattsun and I will just have to entertain ourselves.” There is a breeziness to his tone that indicates that he’s not irritated. “We’ll see you on Monday then. If Iwaizumi survives whatever you’ve got planned.”

“He will,” Akaashi says at the same time Iwaizumi says, “If I’m lucky.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa laugh before lifting their hands in half-hearted waves and splitting off from them at the corner. Akaashi watches as they head further and further into the distance, keeping a leisurely pace. Every once in a while, Matsukawa leans closer to hear whatever Hanamaki is talking about, and the two burst into laughter again like a constant stream. For some odd reason, Akaashi thinks that this is the last time he’ll see them.

“Akaashi,” Iwaizumi calls out.

He has already crossed the street to the other side, and he gestures widely for Akaashi to join him.

Akaashi swings his head in both directions to see if a car is coming before crossing.

* * *

Oikawa leaps up from his position curled up at Iwaizumi’s desk the second the door opens. The blankets that had been resting on his frame fall to the floor, and he flips the notepad he’d been writing on over. “Iwa-chan,” he greets. “And Akaashi-kun.”

Bokuto is sprawled over the guest futon. He has one of Iwaizumi’s volleyballs clutched in his grasp, but he sets it aside at their entrance, gracing them with a tired smile.

“Iwa-chan, I need to talk to you,” Oikawa says, reaching for Iwaizumi’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk!”

“Oh, okay.” The strap of Iwaizumi’s duffel slides down his shoulder until the bag drops to the floor in a heap. “Right now?”

“Yes, now.” Oikawa tugs harder on his hand. “It’s important. We won’t be more than an hour.”

Even though he wears an exasperated look, Iwaizumi gives in far too easily to really be irritated by Oikawa’s strange request. He waits for Oikawa to put on his sneakers and tells them that they’ll be back soon before the door shuts behind them.

Akaashi takes the chance to pick up the covers Oikawa had left on the floor and fold them neatly, placing them at the foot of Iwaizumi’s bed. He can feel Bokuto’s stare even without looking at him. It isn’t until he settles into the abandoned desk chair that the intensity in it falters at all.

“Hi, Bokuto-san,” he says. “How was your morning?”

Bokuto perks up at the question. “It wasn’t bad. Oikawa mostly watched the endings of films. I played with my phone and tried to see how many times I could set the ball in a row.”

“That’s nice.”

“Now that you’re back, how was practice?”

“It was the same.” Akaashi folds his hands into his lap. “It wasn’t easy, but I’m getting better at matching up with the team, so there were fewer mistakes. It’s almost unnoticeable now.”

“Cool! Hey, speaking of practice, do you mind setting for me a bit? We can go out into Iwaizumi’s backyard, and I can hit some spikes.”

Akaashi tries to hold back his grimace. While no one else is home at the moment, any one of Iwaizumi’s neighbors could see them. And it would probably seem strange to everyone else for two random teens to be in someone’s backyard when they clearly don’t live there. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. At least, not right now. Maybe in a little bit.”

Bokuto nods, but Akaashi can tell he’s dejected. He knows him too well at this point. He’s trying not to put Akaashi in a difficult position, but after being cooped up all morning while knowing Akaashi was at practice, he’s antsy to hit a few spikes himself. He wants to move just as much as the rest of them.

“How are Oikawa-san’s sets?” Akaashi asks instead in an attempt to distract Bokuto.

“His sets?” Bokuto raises his eyebrows. “They’re nice. Actually, they’re great. They’re different, but great.” He kicks a leg against the chair. “Not as good as yours though.”

The compliment goes straight to Akaashi’s heart, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep his face still. His neck feels warm. “I don’t think that’s true, Bokuto-san. Oikawa-san is a great setter. I’m not as ambitious as he is. I just go out and do my job.” _And fade into the background_ , he thinks.

Bokuto sits up at that admission. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he looks up at Akaashi. “That’s not true!” he cries out. “You’re a great setter, Akaashi. Your sets are my favorite to hit! They’re the best! Oikawa might be a really great setter, but you’re my favorite.”

Now, Akaashi is certain that his whole face is seconds away from bursting into flame. The flush has worked its way up from his neck to bury itself in his cheeks, and all he can do is maintain eye contact without pooling into a puddle on the floor. Bokuto’s compliments are not hard to come by, but every time they’re spoken out loud, the effect is devastating.

“I… uh…”

“It’s true!” Bokuto insists. “Your sets are the best.”

“What about Anahori-kun?”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi’s eyes flit to his hands, grasped in front of him. It’s easier to look at the lines in his knuckles rather than the earnest confusion in Bokuto’s features. “When we played Seijoh… after I got hit, he played pretty well.”

“I mean, sure.” Bokuto takes a second more to consider that. “I guess he did. Yeah.”

“Yeah, so… I’m never going to be a setter like Oikawa-san. He’s so important to his team. Without him, they struggle. I’m easily replaceable.”

Akaashi hears the rustling in the background, but he doesn’t register it fully until he feels another pair of hands on top of his. He lifts his head to find Bokuto’s amber eyes boring into him. Akaashi leans backwards only to hit against the back of the chair.

“’Kaashi, you’re not replaceable,” Bokuto insists. “You’re really important to the team. Like, _really_ important. Everyone looks to you to talk us out of tough mental blocks, and you’re always the one to keep your cool. You never mess up, which is really amazing because you make it seem so easy all the time. And about Anahori? You do realize that the reason he’s such a good setter is because he’s spent all this time working with you and watching you?”

“I—” Bokuto’s ability to take all of his unruly thoughts and crush them beneath his hand never ceases to amazes him. Akaashi’s tendency to overthink is simplified so easily by Bokuto, broken down into smaller components that feel much more manageable. He’s never looked at his own worries and doubts from this perspective. He doesn’t think about how the team looks to him for guidance when Bokuto falters because that feels second nature to him. He’s never considered all the hours he’s put in with Anahori, teaching him all he knows about his position so that he can fill in when Akaashi is gone.

Bokuto pats his wrist, and Akaashi marvels at the fact that this hand that has been responsible for countless high-powered spikes can still be so gentle. “You are really important to the team, ’Kaashi. Everyone thinks so. Sorry if I forget to say it sometimes. I just assume that you already know, you know?”

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

“Nah, I’ll do better. You tell me all the time how great I am!” Bokuto beams up at him, and Akaashi returns it.

“You are great, Bokuto-san.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter! hope u enjoy

The sun is still high in the sky as Oikawa and Iwaizumi set off from Iwaizumi’s house. Neither of them have a specific destination in mind, but they don’t need to. Mindless ambling is enough for this conversation, and as the two keep pace with each other, it gives Oikawa the time he needs to gather his thoughts. Even with his trial run with Bokuto, he still ponders the best manner of speaking the words into existence. He’s unsure if it’s better to spit it out or ease into it.

For once, Iwaizumi doesn’t insist that he speaks. He seems to understand the gravity of whatever is on Oikawa’s mind, and other than a few covert glances to the side, he’s content to walk along with his hands tucked into the pockets of his Seijoh sweatshirt.

The breeze brushes against his cheeks, running through his hair and along his arms. Every so often, a car rushes past them, the engine roaring until it fades into the distance. They pass by a few of his neighbors, but no one pays them much attention. Oikawa keeps forgetting that he isn’t in his own body. If he weren’t Akaashi, the pair would likely be far more recognizable. Oikawa and Iwaizumi. A matching set.

A matching set that falls apart when one of them is on the other side of the world.

Oikawa sucks in a breath. He can’t keep this to himself any longer. He’s held onto this secret long enough, cradled it between his palms until he was ready to accept the path he’d chosen for himself. There’s nothing left to do but tell Iwaizumi. He has to trust in him—trust that he believes in him and always wants the best for him.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts as they reach another corner.

Wordlessly, Iwaizumi continues down the sidewalk that turns right. Oikawa takes a few long strides to catch up, but he notices that Iwaizumi walks slower now, as though he’s realized that Oikawa is ready to speak and his full attention is now required. “Yes?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“I assumed so—otherwise this walk would make little sense.”

“What if I missed Miyagi? What if I forgot what my own neighborhood looked like and wanted to remind myself?”

Iwaizumi cuts him a flat look. “Sure, maybe you missed Miyagi.” He kicks at a lone pebble, sending it hurtling towards the street. “But that’s not all this is. You have something you want to talk about. I can tell.”

Oikawa steels himself. It’s now or never. The second he tells Iwaizumi, he can’t take it back. The statement will be left hanging between them, and it’s up to Iwaizumi to either accept it or reject it. It’s almost like volleyball, he thinks. This moment isn’t so different from the moment between the ball falling into his hands and the set that follows. They’re both pivotal, and neither of them can be changed.

“I’m going to Argentina.” No matter how many times he says it, Oikawa still hasn’t grown used to it.

Iwaizumi stops in his tracks. His sneakers drag against the path, and Oikawa’s heart jumps into his throat. Iwaizumi takes his hands out of his pockets. “You’re what?”

Oikawa turns towards him. There’s no going back now. “I’m going to Argentina. After graduation. I’ve already decided. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“When did you decide this?”

“Not that long ago. No one else knows. Just my family.” And one other person, who he _hopes_ will keep his mouth shut. Before he knows it, the words start spewing out of his mouth, explanations toppling over each other in an effort to be said, “I know I should’ve told you, but I wanted to make sure everything was finalized beforehand. And then I was worried how you would react, and then I kept putting it off, and _then_ this whole thing happened—”

“Oikawa.”

“—and I know I have to tell you, because you _are_ my best friend, and you’re the person whose opinion matters the most to me—”

“Tooru.”

The sound of his given name makes him pause, his lips pressing together. Iwaizumi watches him fidget for a few seconds before letting him off. His mouth forms a serene smile that eradicates all of the nerves building up in his stomach. Iwaizumi moves closer, and all Oikawa can do is remain still as Iwaizumi nudges him with an elbow.

“So, Argentina, huh?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yeah.” Oikawa swallows past the lump in his throat. “You’re not mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

Iwaizumi lets out a small huff. It’s the sound of exasperation, but this time, it is almost fond. “I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me. It’s completely your choice and your decision. You had to come to terms with it on your time.”

“Are you mad that I’m going then?” Oikawa still struggles to picture it: he and Iwaizumi separated by more than the distance between their houses. There will be oceans between them soon.

“No,” Iwaizumi says, and the sincerity in his voice catches Oikawa off guard yet again. “If you think Argentina is the best route for you and your career, then I’m on board. I’d be mad if you were giving up. But you’re not. So I’m not mad.”

“But I’ll be so far away!” He teeters on a whine, and although he’s been told several times—many of which were by Iwaizumi himself—that he resembles a petulant child when he talks like this, he can’t help it. “Won’t you miss me?”

“Mmm.” Iwaizumi grumbles to himself, so low that Oikawa can’t pick up on any individual syllables. “Argentina isn’t that far from California, actually.”

“What does California have to do with any of this?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been holding stuff back.” Iwaizumi heaves a sigh before continuing. “I’m going to study sports science in California. Surprise.”

 _What?_ Oikawa pulls away from Iwaizumi and lands a light hit on the other’s shoulder. “Are you kidding me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi reaches a hand up to rub at the spot Oikawa targeted. Oikawa had made sure not to be too forceful with the hit as it was only meant to tease, but Iwaizumi will drag it out anyway. “What?”

“How could you keep this from me?” Oikawa splays his hands over his heart, acting like he’s been mortally wounded. He never finds it dull—riling Iwaizumi up, and sometimes, he makes it too easy to do so. “I thought we were friends!”

“What are you talking about, Crappykawa?” Oikawa can almost see the vein in his forehead pop. “You’ve been keeping Argentina a secret from me, and you’re on my case for keeping California a secret from you?”

“Yes, of course, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases. “The difference between you and me is that I like to know things.” He stops speaking long enough for Iwaizumi to see the slow smile that creeps up. “California, huh?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi scratches the nape of his neck. “It should be good.”

“That’s really great. I’m happy for you.”

“And?”

“And?”

“There’s an and in there somewhere,” Iwaizumi says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa says quickly—too quickly, judging by the look on Iwaizumi’s face. He’s never been able to lie convincingly. At least, not to Iwaizumi. It’s hard when someone knows all of your tells and quirks. They’ll always know your shadow.

Iwaizumi takes a step closer. “Oikawa…”

“It’s nothing!” He looks away and focuses his attention on the street instead. Iwaizumi’s gaze is too intense to match at the moment. Maybe if he waits for a second, he’ll be able to attempt a nonchalant response that deters Iwaizumi. “Really.”

“Bokuto said that the people involved in the body swap had to be completely honest with themselves.”

“I don’t recall him saying _that._ ”

“It was implied.”

When Oikawa looks back, Iwaizumi studies him with that intense stare all over again. He can’t lie to him. He can’t hold himself back. And Iwaizumi has a point: he’d admitted all this to Bokuto earlier. It’s not fair to either of them if he doesn’t voice even his most vulnerable thoughts.

“I’m worried,” he says, picking off a piece of dust from his sweatshirt, “that I’ll fail. I’m worried that I’ll get to Argentina, and I still won’t make it anywhere. I’m worried that I’ll get there and feel miserable and regret it.”

Iwaizumi falls silent. Oikawa almost senses each individual beat of his own heart, pumping inside him until it’s about to burst. His eardrums are filled with a roar that matches the roar of a cheering crowd. It’s almost unbearable.

“There’s no reason to worry,” Iwaizumi says after a long while. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to succeed.”

“But—”

“No buts. You’re not going to let yourself fail. It’s going to be hard sometimes. Probably really hard. But you’re going to go to Argentina, and you’re going to succeed because you believe in yourself and your abilities.” Iwaizumi wanders closer, grabbing ahold of the sleeve of Oikawa’s sweatshirt. “And if you ever have a bad day, and you need to be reminded of how amazing you are, you’re going to call me. Got it? I’ll remind you. So that you never forget.”

The roaring quietens until it’s a mere whisper. He is no longer aware of his heartrate. It’s calming. Soothing.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispers.

“You’re going to call me,” Iwaizumi insists.

“I’ll call you.”

“Even if it’s not a bad day. I want you to call me to keep me updated. Every game and every practice. I want to be updated.” Iwaizumi loosens his grip. “Then when you’re a hotshot and a household name, I can look at you and say, _I told you so, idiot._ _I told you you’d make it this far._ ”

Oikawa resists the urge to roll his eyes, because he can sense this is a tender moment, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. It feels delicate, running through his fingers like water. “Of course you have to get in the last word.”

“I’m sure Makki and Mattsun will be in on it too. And the rest of our team.”

“Mmhmm.”

Iwaizumi pats his back, and the two start retracing their steps back towards Iwaizumi’s house. The weight that had rested on his shoulders is gone, and each stride is so much lighter—feels so much more free.

“I might never be a setter like Akaashi-kun, you know? All cool, calm, and collected.”

“No one asked you to be.”

“Hmm.” Oikawa tilts his head up to the sky. The sun rests against his profile as if it’s been waiting for him to look up all this time. “Okay.”

When he brings his head down again, Iwaizumi is watching him. He gestures forward. “C’mon, Tooru. The world is waiting.”

* * *

Bokuto wastes no time in wearing Akaashi down further, and after many bouts of pleading, Akaashi gives in and follows Bokuto outside to the front of Akaashi’s house. He hopes that no one spots them and does a double take, but there are no guarantees.

Bokuto is undeterred by the absence of a net. All he wants is to be able to feel the impact of the volleyball against his palm, and he wants Akaashi to be the one to set it up for him. For the first time this week, Akaashi is unafraid to set the ball. Before, he had been setting it for attackers he was unused to. But this is Bokuto, whose runs and spikes are imprinted into the deepest recesses of his brain. His every movement and every swing are familiar to Akaashi, who never has to think twice about the kind of set Bokuto wants.

It comes naturally to him. It doesn’t matter that all they’re doing is spiking it downward onto the patch of grass. They fall into an easy rhythm in which Akaashi sends the ball upwards, Bokuto takes the run up, and he slams it down. One of them goes to retrieve the ball, and the process begins all over again.

Akaashi doesn’t realize how long they’ve been outside before he spots two figures in the distance headed their way. Even from where he stands, he can tell there is a certain levity to Oikawa’s steps that hadn’t been present before. His only assumption is that Oikawa had something to confess to Iwaizumi. The subject matter will likely never be known to him, but he doesn’t mind. Anything that brings them a step closer to switching back is a win in his book—if Bokuto’s theory works.

“You do realize you two are playing where everyone can see, right?” Iwaizumi calls from across the street.

Akaashi gives him an overly exaggerated shrug as if to say, _What can you do?_ Bokuto hurries to retrieve the ball from where it rolls.

The two of them cross the street, standing only a few feet away. Bokuto tosses the volleyball over to Akaashi, who rolls it between his hands to steady his grip.

“We should get a net,” Oikawa suggests, jogging over. “We can play a two-on-two.”

Akaashi sends a set upward, vowing this to be the last one, and lets out a noise of agreement. His attention fixed on Bokuto, he watches the ace begin his run up, and there’s a jolt in his stomach as Akaashi recognizes the misstep. Still, Bokuto doesn’t slow down, and his leap is as picturesque as ever—

Akaashi sees what is about to happen a second before it does. “Wait—!”

Bokuto’s arm swings downward, and all Akaashi can do is freeze in place as he watches the volleyball slam into Oikawa’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha .... ha .... ha .... :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's the last chapter everyone! hope you enjoy

Luck must have finally turned his way. When Oikawa stirs the next morning at the first inkling of sunlight reaching through the window, there is no distant pain in his nose. It doesn’t feel blocked or swollen, and his only thought is that he is either not connected enough to his senses to register the ache or that the swelling must’ve gone down enough to not be noticeable anymore. It had hurt an incredible amount yesterday—enough that he’d had a difficult time falling asleep while breathing heavily through his mouth. To his credit, Bokuto had turned over and drifted off in an instant, ensuring that Oikawa didn’t have to feel guilty about keeping him awake. He heard Iwaizumi roll over a few times, but he never complained about Oikawa’s gasps once.

Oikawa turns over onto his side and squints out at the curtain. He’s sure Iwaizumi had sealed it shut yesterday, but the glass is almost completely visible. The sun captures several particles of dust floating in the air, and Oikawa feels the warmth along his arms as he reaches out to yank the curtain shut. It isn’t until he catches sight of his reflection in the reflection that he shrieks.

“Oh,” he murmurs, touching his face. He pats down his body as if to make sure that it’s really his. Akaashi’s body had never felt foreign to him per say, as they were close in height and size, but there is a familiarity to his own that he cannot deny. “Oh.”

Oikawa kicks off his covers and stands in the middle of his room, spinning in place. It has taken him this long to realize that he’s in his own bedroom—not Iwaizumi’s. Which must mean that Akaashi is back in his own body, and that he’s now sharing a futon with Bokuto on the floor of Iwaizumi’s bedroom.

The inconsequential features of his bedroom that he’d never missed until he was gone stick out to him all the more now. His old poster is still peeling from the walls, his collection of games of teams he’s faced rest in a messy row of discs on his desk, and his slippers wait for him at the side of his bed.

All at once, relief washes over him, and Oikawa wraps his arms around himself. He’s back in his body. He’ll be able to captain Aoba Johsai during their qualifiers. He gets to enjoy these next few games before they’re gone. He’s never been happier.

Oikawa wastes no time in getting dressed, not even bothering with breakfast before slipping out of his house and heading over to Iwaizumi’s. He wants to see the official proof for himself. He wants to see Akaashi sit up and be able to sigh in relief that it’s actually over. Although, part of him will miss the last few days. It could’ve been so much worse, but Fukurodani are a great team and Bokuto is a good friend. The week was survivable because of that.

It isn’t until he cracks the door open to Iwaizumi’s bedroom that he realizes that everyone is still asleep. Sure enough, Bokuto and Akaashi share the guest futon. Bokuto snores loudly every few seconds, his lips fixed in a permanent smile even while he sleeps. Akaashi lies facing up, his mouth lolling open.

As Oikawa steps over their sleeping forms, he peers closer at Akaashi’s nose. The swelling has diminished slightly, thanks to Akaashi rushing inside to grab an ice pack soon after the impact was made, but it won’t disappear for a few days. Part of Oikawa is glad that that isn’t his problem to handle.

He wanders over to Iwaizumi’s bed, shuffling closer to the huddled heap under the covers. Wordlessly, Oikawa lifts the covers to slide in himself, and Iwaizumi lets out a hiss between his teeth when Oikawa’s chilly feet brush against his legs.

“For fuck’s sake, Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, his voice still fighting the waves of drowsiness that threaten to take him under again. “You’re freezing. Get out of my bed.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa protests, wrapping two arms around Iwaizumi’s waist.

At that, Iwaizumi rolls over to untangle himself from Oikawa’s grasp—only to pause at the sight of Oikawa’s face staring back at him. Iwaizumi hesitates, then, “Akaashi?”

Oikawa scoffs and pushes a hand against Iwaizumi’s face, squeezing his cheeks together. “No, you idiot,” he says. “It’s me.”

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi sits up straight, the covers pooling around his waist, any notion of sleep long forgotten. “Is this—? Are you…?”

Oikawa drops his arm and buries his face sideways into the pillow. His smile is warm as he looks up at Iwaizumi. “Yes. We’ve switched back.” He holds a finger to his lips. “Quiet, Iwa-chan. They’re still sleeping.”

Iwaizumi seems to realize that they’re not alone for the first time since being roused from his dreams, and he settles back down beneath the covers. His voice is low when he speaks again. “You woke up in your own body?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums. “Akaashi should be back in his considering he appears to be breathing. Unfortunately, he has that awful nose to deal with for the next few days.”

“You should’ve gotten out of the way quicker.”

“That would’ve been impossible. Bokkun is too quick for that. I was doomed.”

“Maybe I could hit you with a volleyball so that you two match. Then you’d be joined with Akaashi in solidarity.”

“Please don’t,” he says, a trickle of seriousness seeping through. “It was hard enough falling asleep last night when I couldn’t breathe.”

“So what do you think actually triggered the switch back?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Not sure,” Oikawa answers. He spares a thought for the two sharing the futon a few feet away. “Do you think Akaashi wound up doing his big thing? You think it had something to do with Bokkun?”

“I have an idea what it was,” Iwaizumi mumbles. Oikawa opens his mouth. “And no, I’m not telling you.” His mouth shuts. “It does have something to do with Bokuto. I’m sure Akaashi talked to him while we were gone.”

There’s a brief bout of silence.

“You don’t think it was because I got hit in the face with the ball, do you?”

“No,” Iwaizumi mutters, though he doesn’t sound as certain as he tries to. “That would be ridiculous.”

“Oh, and solving this using the endings of popular films wasn’t ridiculous?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi turns over until his face sits headfirst in his pillow. “Go to sleep.” His voice is muffled beyond belief, but that sounds like the intention of his sentence.

Oikawa winds his arms back around Iwaizumi’s waist, and when Iwaizumi doesn’t shove him off this time, he lets out a sigh of pure contentment. He’s missed this.

* * *

Akaashi can’t mask his sincere relief when he wakes up in his own body. The warmth of another person at his side startles him for a moment until a blurry head appears in his line of vision. His eyes take a second to adjust, but it’s impossible to deny that the face looking down at him is the same one he’s been wearing all week.

“Akaashi-kun?”

“Morning, Oikawa-san.” Akaashi rarely showcases off the moments when pure, unadulterated joy filters through him, but when Oikawa smiles at him, it’s inevitable that he smiles back.

* * *

The ride to the first train that takes them back to Tokyo is filled with chatter. Oikawa and Bokuto won’t stop talking the whole journey, talking about everything and nothing all at once, and all he and Iwaizumi do is listen in. It isn’t until they’re standing on the platform that Akaashi fully realizes that this is all over.

He won’t have a reason to see Oikawa or Iwaizumi again in person. Unless they make it to Nationals. Whatever tentative friendship they’ve formed over the past couple of days has no real reason to continue. That thought saddens him, but his emotions must be clear as day on his face because Iwaizumi flashes him a quick grin.

“Take care of yourself, Akaashi,” he says, gripping Akaashi’s shoulder. “Good luck with qualifiers.”

“Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

Oikawa nearly barrels into his side. It is only months of experience with Bokuto attempting the same thing that keeps him standing upright. “Akaashi-kun!” he cries out, his arms held out. “This has been a weird experience for sure. But I suppose if there was one setter I’d trust in my place, it’d be you. Thanks for all you did this week.”

The unexpected compliment makes him reel back. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We were both doing what had to be done.”

“Yeah, and you managed not to get called out on your setting.” Oikawa looks over his shoulder to shoot Bokuto a glare.

“Hey!” Bokuto cries out. “It’s not my fault you were being so obvious.”

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa returns his attention to Akaashi. “Anyway, Akaashi-kun, you did well. Fukurodani are lucky to have you.” He sticks his hand out.

Akaashi grasps his hand in his own. One setter to another. “Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he says, letting that sink in. _Fukurodani are lucky to have you._ “And thank you for all you did this week too. Bokuto-san’s an outlier. I’m sure the rest of the team didn’t even notice.”

Bokuto protests again in the background, and Iwaizumi pats his back in sympathy.

Oikawa laughs lowly under his breath, his arm returning back to his side. “I hope so. At least it’s over.” He turns sideways in Bokuto’s direction. “C’mon, Bokkun. One last hug.”

While Bokuto and Oikawa exchange their last few words, the train’s horn cuts through the air, and the cars pull up to the platform. Bokuto hurries to stand at his side as they wait for the doors to open. Akaashi spares one last look behind him: Iwaizumi and Oikawa huddle close together, their shoulders brushing against each other, and Iwaizumi lifts a hand up.

“Bye, you two!” Oikawa shouts after them. Akaashi might’ve cringed at the volume level if it were any other time—if this wasn’t such a permanent farewell.

Oikawa’s voice garners them a few side-eyes, but Akaashi lets his worries slide off his shoulders as he waves back before climbing aboard the car. Bokuto’s presence behind him is steady, and the two fit down the aisle to find their seats. Akaashi lets Bokuto take the window seat before settling in next to him.

Bokuto peeks out the window to see if he can catch one last glimpse of Iwaizumi and Oikawa before the train speeds off. Akaashi leans closer to Bokuto to determine whether he can see them too. But it isn’t until the doors slam shut and the train picks up speed that the platform breezes past. Akaashi thinks he might’ve seen two blurry figures in the quick window of time they had, one with his arms waving them off, but it happens too quickly for him to be sure.

With a sigh, Akaashi leans back into his seat. The plush cushions press against his shoulders, firm enough that he contemplates resting his head and catching another hour of sleep, but he wants to make sure there is still another train for them to catch, and he’s determined not to let them miss their stop. He wants to get back to Tokyo as quickly as possible. It’s been too long.

It’s only been a week, but it’s still too long.

He raises a hand to his nose and presses down on it gently. It still aches beneath his touch, and he still feels like he can’t breathe out of it properly. Two consecutive nose injuries can’t be good, but the second hit did minimal damage, not even drawing blood, and all of his research online indicates that it isn’t anything to worry about yet.

His eyes flick over to the side to find Bokuto watching him. His gaze hasn’t lessened in its intensity since he’s been gone, and he wonders if that weight ever shifted because of Oikawa. “Yes, Bokuto-san?”

“Does your nose still hurt?”

Oh. He’s feeling guilty. Akaashi should’ve remembered that. “Not really,” he lies. “It’ll be fine soon. It’ll just take a few days.”

Bokuto nods, taking every word Akaashi says to heart. “Okay, that’s good,” he says. “Your face still looks great even after being hit twice in one week!”

That comment makes Akaashi stiffen. Though his mind says that it’s nothing more than Bokuto’s earnestness talking, his heart speaks differently. Instead, he says, “I missed you, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s expression visibly lights up. “I missed you too, ’Kaashi!”

Despite the chaos of this past week, Bokuto has been a constant. He and Iwaizumi both stepped up to the plate when their setters faltered. It’s a relief to know that no matter what obstacle life shoves in their paths, the ace is right alongside them. Maybe he and Oikawa aren’t much alike, but they do have that: two dependable aces that are there to make up for them in their absences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is! the end to a very long fic that literally began bc my friend suggested that i write a bokuaka / iwaoi bodyswap au, and even though i said i would never write a long fic, this wound up happening. i hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing the fun banter and shenanigans.
> 
> (1) of course, if you wouldn't mind leaving a kudos or a comment, that would mean the world. i really do thrive off feedback, and it does wonders for my motivation, so if you liked this fic in any way, it would be massively appreciated!
> 
> (2) LOL at how i thought this would be no more than 20k. i love being a clown.
> 
> (3) the next thing that i will be working on is a sunaosa (!!!) killing eve au one-shot epic. i've started planning it, and it already looks very lengthy. i'll start working on it soon, and i plan to have it up before christmas, so if that sounds like something you're into, look out for that!
> 
> (4) anYway, thanks again for reading! i hope this gave you some small amount of joy over the past few weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought. i crave validation.


End file.
